


All the good in the world

by cyndaquilka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndaquilka/pseuds/cyndaquilka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up is not an easy task. With a little help of magic and a certain wizard, will the youngest of McGonagalls turn into a respected young adult? Or will the war, either wizarding or muggle, take its toll on her beautiful mind? A set of stories concerning Minerva McGonagall - her school years and friendship with Albus Dumbledore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take care of that one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing them for a while and promise to return them in more or less the same condition.
> 
> I am extremely grateful to shinjuike (My Tomato Days) for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful notes.

"First years! Come over here! First years!"

Trembling slightly in a size too big school robes, Minerva McGonagall was pushed out of a train by a crowd of oddly dressed people. At the moment, she regretted having her black hair cut to shoulder length, as the first September night was much colder than the summer ones. Putting her collar up tight, she followed another children her age that started gathering near the shouting man.

"Everyone here? Alright. I'm Ogg, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Follow me to reach the Hogwarts grounds. First years, this way!"

They all followed. After a short walk down a dark narrow path, they reached a shore of a large lake. On the other side there was a high mountain and a massive Romanesque castle on top of it.

"Four people into one boat!" Ogg shouted. He was tall and muscular, so nobody tried to disobey him. When everyone found a place, he said "Forward!" and the fleet of tiny boats glided across the lake. Having reached a stony underground harbour, the students disembarked and hurried up a passage carved in solid rock. Finally, they arrived at the foot of the castle.

Ogg knocked on the oak door, which immediately opened to reveal a tall wizard dressed in sky blue robes with gold stars. He had short auburn hair, his beard barely covered his neck, and his bright blue eyes twinkled in the direction of the students.

"I leave the first years with you, Professor Dumbledore," said Ogg after shaking hands with the peculiarly looking wizard.

"For that I am grateful, Ogg, old friend," Dumbledore answered with a nod and his attention returned to the young witches and wizards before him. "Please, follow me, if you will," he commended.

As Minerva stepped inside the castle, she couldn't take her eyes off her surroundings. The entrance hall was huge and cold. Its stone walls didn't meet the ceiling, but disappeared into the darkness. Torches were flaming on each of her sides and, surprisingly, they were the only sources of light. She didn't spot any lamps or, at the very least, bare light bulbs.

Before she noticed, Minerva and the rest of her year entered a small chamber down the hall. By the time Professor Dumbledore faced them again, the students had begun to talk nervously.

"If I may have your attention, please," he raised his voice slightly, but it was enough to make everyone silent. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. As the Deputy Headmaster, I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In a few moments we are to enter the Great Hall, where your sorting ceremony will take place. Every one of you will belong to one of four Houses, which will become your second family for the time you spend in Hogwarts. These Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. You can earn your House points for performing marvellous in classes and lose House points for breaking the school rules."

Professor Dumbledore looked around to see if there were any questions, and, seeing that there weren't, he continued.

"Now, I would like you to form a line. We are all going to step into the Great Hall in a minute or two."

Minerva, despite having an older sibling, was never good at confrontations, so she ended up near the end of the line. The huge double doors to the Great Hall stood open and everyone followed Professor Dumbledore out of the chamber.

The group passed four long tables full of older students. The hall was lit by thousands of candles flowing in mid air. When Minerva looked up, she couldn't believe her own eyes. There was an open sky above her, deep dark blue and full of stars. She managed to find a few familiar constellations. Fascinated by the unusual view, Minerva bumped into the dark-haired boy who suddenly stopped before her.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking in the direction everyone was facing. There was a fifth table at the end of the hall, positioned perpendicularly to the rest, and it was occupied by teachers. Professor Dumbledore placed a four-legged stool between the first years and the teachers' table. On top of the stool he placed a dirty wizard's hat with a big rip in the middle.

For a few moments nothing happened. Minerva started wondering if something had gone wrong. Then the hat twitched a few times and sang a very peculiar song for which it received a round of applause. Minerva took a deep sigh. She hardly fought the urge to turn around and look up the face of her brother on the Ravenclaw table.

"I will call out your names in an alphabetical order," said Dumbledore when the applause had stopped. "When you hear your name, please sit down on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat."

Whenever Minerva asked about the sorting ceremony, Malcolm would tell his younger sister that it was extremely long and painful. She remembered him mentioning fighting a hippogriff or riding a dragon. She didn't believe him, of course, she wasn't stupid. Nevertheless, the girl was still certain the sorting would imply some kind of a test. Casting a simple spell, naming the common curses, telling a difference between an animal and a magical creature. Anything. It turned out everything she had to do was put on an old hat. What a fool she had been to feel so nervous.

"First is… Bones, Edgar!"

A tall blond-haired boy walked forward and put the hat on. It was at least a few sizes too big, covering not only his eyes, but entire face.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. Students on the right greeted him with cheers. A half-transparent figure floated over to Edgar, vividly encouraging him to join the table. Was that a… ghost?!

"Cooper, Charles!"

Another fair-haired boy approached the stool but Minerva's attention drifted elsewhere. Her eyes went up to glance at the stars once again. Hearing claps and shouting directly behind her, she turned around to see a thin short-haired girl join the Gryffindor table. Minerva noticed that each House had its own ghost that greeted the first years or chit-chatted with the older students.

"Longbottom, Montgomery!"

Hearing that Professor Dumbledore had already reached the letter L, Minerva focused back on the sorting. Her name could be called any minute now. Two more people were assigned to their new Houses before it was Minerva's turn.

"McGonagall, Minerva!"

Suddenly very anxious, Minerva clenched her teeth and stepped forward. Putting the Sorting Hat on resulted in being unable to see anything but darkness, which unfortunately didn't make her feel any less exposed. She sighed heavily, and then nearly jumped off from the stool after hearing a voice in her head.

"Another McGonagall, huh? The same bright mind, I see that very clearly. This is what Ravenclaw valued most. A thirst of knowledge, logical way of thinking, an ability to easily acquire skills, both theoretical and practical. But there's also a lot of courage. You have the guts to stand for yourself, to be independent, not to only blindly follow anyone's leadership. You want to prove your worthiness above all, but only on those fields you find important. Now, where should I put you?"

The quiet muttering could be heard from every corner of the room, including the teachers' table. There was confusion in Professor Dumbledore's eyes. He's heard about hatstalls from his colleagues, but never had an opportunity to witness one. He looked at his employer for directions. The older wizard raised his hand reassuringly, so Albus decided to wait patiently for the hat to name the girl's house.

"You're very mature for your age," the Sorting Hat continued. "Therefore, you'll have a hard time finding a common language with your classmates. Most of the kids I meet are childish and fun-striving. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, though. I'm just saying you're in a more urgent need of a mentor who would be willing to guide you.

"Let me think… If you're put into Ravenclaw, your Head of House is going to be Filius Flitwick. You might have not noticed him, he's a tiny little wizard. Part-goblin, I believe. But powerful, oh yes. I had a hard time with him, too, you know? About thirty or forty years ago. He might have as well been a Gryffindor. Now, where was I?…

"Oh, yes. If you're in Gryffindor, on the other hand, your Head of House will be Albus Dumbledore, the person standing next to you. He's a very kind young wizard, and a dear friend of mine, if I could be so bold. I think he would be a better man for the job, as Filius often gets distracted. He's watching you right now, you know that? He looks extremely worried and he barely knows you. Oh, looks like someone's touched. You already like him, don't you? Well, then I think you'll be better off in… GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted after what seemed like eternity. Then it muttered to the Deputy, "I hope you'll take a good care of that one, Albus."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, not entirely sure what the hat meant. He took the hat from Minerva who looked at him kindly before going to join the Gryffindor table, smiling apologetically at her disappointed-looking brother on her way there. Several boys and girls shook her hand. She sat down between two forth years.

"Nice to meet you, Miss," said a low voice from behind. Minerva looked around to see a ghostly figure of a middle-aged man that put his hand on her shoulder. It was icy cold.

"Nice to meet you, sir…?"

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"Or Nearly-Headless Nick, for short," added a dark-haired boy sitting next to her. Sir Nicholas gave him a warning look before returning his attention to the newest member of his house.

"You gave the hat a hard time, Miss. The more we're all glad to have you. Wherever else did it want to put you?"

"Ravenclaw, sir," answered Minerva. "Thank you for your kind words."

"Well mannered, aren't you? It's a rare trait nowadays, very rare, indeed."

"Sir Nicholas!" shouted a round girl from another side of the table. "How were your holidays?"

"Excuse me for a moment, Miss," said Sir Nicholas before leaving.

Minerva watched the ghost drift away, amazed by the way he was gliding several feet above the ground. Having no one to talk to, the girl looked at the empty gold plates. Getting more hungry with every passing minute, she hoped the ceremony would end soon and the kitchen would start serving food.

At the teachers' table a balding man with long silver beard got to his feet. The Great Hall fell silent at once.

"Welcome and welcome back to Hogwarts! I'm very pleased to see you all gathered here for the Welcoming Feast. Let it begin!"

The empty plates immediately filled with food. At this time Minerva thought that magic will never cease to amaze her.

It was going to be an interesting year.


	2. Aiming for steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely grateful to shinjuike (My Tomato Days) for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful notes.

Minerva was very excited about her first classes.

The previous night she didn't get much sleep. Every first-year Gryffindor was talking excitedly with older students in an attempt to figure out what was awaiting them tomorrow.

The first thing Minerva learned was that History of Magic was the most dull and boring subject Hogwarts had to offer. Potions classes weren't much better, according to a group of fifth-year boys. Most of the girls disagreed, praising its practical use to anyone who would listen. A tall fair-haired girl, apparently the Quidditch captain, requested that everyone takes the flying lessons seriously as she would be looking for new faces next year. A freckled red-hair called Septimus Weasley advised to avoid crossing paths with Mr. Pringle, the caretaker, at any costs. He even showed off faint scars on his forearm, which would have still been intact hadn't he tried to steal Professor Slughorn's precious herbs, as a female voice from another end of the common room pointed out. Another opinion that was repeated most frequently concerned Transfiguration. The older students were speaking very highly not only of the subject, but primarily about the professor teaching it.

No wonder Minerva got curious. If the other Gryffindors were right, this might have been her favourite subject. She sat straighter in her chair, adjusting her quill in the ink bottle.

At nine o'clock sharp the Transfiguration Professor entered the classroom. Minerva recognized him at once. It was the very same wizard who had been supervising the Sorting ceremony the day before. This time he was wearing maroon teaching robes and a matching wizard's cap. He stood near the centre of the board, his arms spread open, beaming at the young students.

"Good morning everyone! For those of you who didn't pay attention yesterday, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm glad I was given the privilege to teach your first classes. Let me inform you that Transfiguration is a very demanding branch of magic. To become an adept, every single one of you will need to devote many hours of your free time to learn the theory and practice the casting skills. But mastering it," Professor Dumbledore changed the nearest desk into a domestic pig and back again, having received a huge applause, "creates endless opportunities."

With Professor Dumbledore's inspiring speech still resounding in their ears, the class diligently copied notes from their textbooks and the blackboard. When most had finished, Professor Dumbledore assigned the first practical task: to transform a match into a needle.

This seemed simple. Both matches and needles are approximately the same size and weight, but differ in shape and material. Trying to focus on one thing at once, Minerva attempted to change wood into steel. She flicked her wand, said the incantation, and then waited for a reaction. Nothing. She repeated her movements, speaking more clearly this time. Again, nothing happened. After what seemed like eternity, she managed to produce a thin layer of silvery dust on the surface. Not being a person to give up so easily, Minerva kept casting the spell over and over again until her wrist hurt too much to continue. But she acquired her goal - the whole match turned silver gloss. She glanced at the watch. It was still more than half an hour to go.

"How are you doing, Miss McGonagall?" A calm voice asked from behind her.

"I'm fine, Professor, thank you," she replied. "I need another few minutes to work on the shape and I'll be done."

"May I?" he asked politely, pointing at the silver match.

"Yes, sure," said Minerva and she handed it over.

Dumbledore examined the match, his icy blue eyes shining with interest from below his wavy auburn hair. He weighed it in his large palm, tossed to his other hand, tapped it with his finger and watched from each and every side. Finally, he returned it to his student.

"Well done, Miss McGonagall," Professor Dumbledore complimented her. "You managed to conjure a fine iron match in under twenty minutes. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "Although, I was aiming for steel."

The wizard smiled with understanding.

"Could you show me how you perform the spell, Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva reached for another match and cast the switching spell.

"You got the most difficult part correctly," said the professor, nodding. "The last movement of your wand should be made faster. Let me show you."

Dumbledore took Minerva's wrist and waved her wand, invoking the spell.

"There you go," he said, releasing the young witch's hand from his grasp. "All steel and pointy."

At his comment, Minerva smiled with excitement. She took the needle between her finger and thumb, sharp tip pointing down. She couldn't believe it. This was actually a needle.

"How did you…" she started a question, but Professor Dumbledore interrupted her.

"Try to memorize the wand movement," he advised. "And speak the second part a bit more clearly. I'll come to check back on you in a moment."

Having said that, Dumbledore started his second round around the class. Before the lesson ended, Minerva had reproduced the silver needle, which earned Gryffindor ten points. In the meantime, she also managed to memorize ten out of twenty five letters of the Transfiguration alphabet.

By the end of her next lesson, which was a dull introductory theory on types of cauldrons and vials, she was taking all of her notes using these symbols. Augusta Finch borrowed one of her notebooks, but gave it back after failing to decipher the first sentence.

No wonder the second Transfiguration class was extremely boring for Minerva. Her classmates were doing their best to learn the new alphabet, and several students were still working hard with their matches. She thanked Merlin they were given their homework soon after the lesson had started. Otherwise, she would have to quietly read the next chapter of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. Or count clouds.

When the bell rang and her peers hurried to lunch, Minerva approached the teacher's desk. She placed one hand on its edge and started nervously.

"Professor Dumbledore," she hesitated for a moment despite his encouraging gaze. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"As you are now?" asked the professor in an attempt to lighten up the mood. It looked that he'd failed, which caused him to hold back a sigh. "Of course you can, Miss McGonagall. That's what I'm here for" He gestured her to sit down, which she gladly did. "What is bothering you?"

"I was thinking if you could prepare for me some extra exercises to do in class?"

She observed her Head of House's reaction, determined not to look away from these icy blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her.

"I think a few additional exercises could be managed." After a moment of silence, he added thoughtfully, "I was surprised you didn't come to me earlier. Today's lesson didn't have to be a waste."

"It wasn't," Minerva admitted. "At least, I could finish my essay on the transformation formula."

Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched with surprise.

"You can hand it now, if you wish to."

She looked down at the piece of parchment containing her homework.

"No, I think I'll add a few lines after dinner."

"As you wish," he replied with a nod. "Now, why don't you join the rest of the House? I need to finish something before departing."

"Oh, right," said Minerva, jumping up to her feet, suddenly slightly embarrassed. "Thank you, sir. I mean, for the exercises. See you at dinner."

"You too, Miss McGonagall."

She rushed out of the classroom and in the direction of the Great Hall. She had already forgotten how hungry she was. Running down the corridors, Minerva was thinking about her next Transfiguration classes and the new possibilities awaiting her.

For now, she wasn't thrilled about the subject. She was good at it, therefore she would give it another chance. One thing she had to admit, though.

She really liked Professor Dumbledore.


	3. He won't bite you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely grateful to shinjuike (My Tomato Days) for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful notes.

Being a Head of House meant a lot of extra responsibilities. You had to discipline the students, ensure they don't do anything reckless. Or plain stupid. Educate them in many more ways than your prime subject demanded. And also be there for them whenever they needed you. After all, to those kids the Houses were like a family while they were in Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore usually enjoyed his duties. To his best knowledge, there was nothing more rewarding than watching his pupils grow up to be responsible young adults. There were certain days during his career, though, when he was unable to appreciate the outcomes of his continuous efforts. The days in which he'd kill for a free evening or die for a long night sleep. Meanwhile, he was on his way to the Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night to check if the party thrown in honour of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had ended and the students had finally got to their beds.

Albus opened his mouth to give the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady when he noticed a small figure sitting in front of it.

"Miss McGonagall?" he asked, surprised to see a first-year student out of the common room at this hour. Minerva jumped. She watched in panic as Professor Dumbledore took a few steps forward. Her gaze dropped from his icy blue eyes to the floor as she cringed, apparently waiting to be reprimanded for her behaviour. Instead, the professor smiled with compassion. "Forgot your password, haven't you? Don't worry, my dear. I am more than willing to help you get inside."

Minerva looked a bit surprised by his statement.

"No, sir," she replied hesitantly. "I know the password."

"Oh." Dumbledore rose his eyebrows. His face sharpened. "Then I should immediately remind you that any student is forbidden to wander around the school at this hour. If there is another incident like this, you'll give me no choice but to give you detention, young lady."

"No, sir, please! I wasn't wandering, I swear."

"Then what were you…"

"I'm afraid," sounded a low voice from behind, "I am the one responsible for this child's misbehaviour."

Albus looked over his shoulder to meet the eyes of the Fat Lady, whose portrait guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. He thought he had misheard her. Was she… defending a student? For what reason? Albus remembered that in his youth the Fat Lady used to scold him for waking her up at night, snort exasperatedly whenever he forgot his books or roll her eyes with a deep sigh when he bothered her without a good enough reason. That's why, at least in his eyes, the portrait's current actions didn't make any sense. At all.

"You?" Albus asked, more and more confused. "Could you explain yourself?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore noticed Minerva crumpling her school robes nervously, her cheeks blushing slightly.

"Naturally," said the Fat Lady calmly. "The young miss was nice enough to come and keep me company for a little while. We were in the middle of a conversation about one of my favourite set of robes when you arrived, Professor. I must have got carried away, though, because we usually end our little chats much before a night round. Not that it is my fault. It wouldn't kill you to put a watch on the wall, you know!"

"Thank you, my dear," Albus managed to interrupt when she paused to take another breath. "I've heard everything I needed to hear. As for the watch, I will mention the matter to Armando."

"I'll hold you to it," answered the Fat Lady. She still looked suspicious.

"Miss McGonagall," said the professor, focusing his attention back at his pupil. "Would you mind having a few words with me?"

"No, sir," she whispered, forcing her voice not to tremble.

Albus gave the portrait a meaningful look. The Fat Lady pretended to polish her nails. He raised his eyebrow. Still, no reaction.

"Would you mind?" he asked.

"Password?" she said in response.

"Dungbombs," Minerva gave the password hastily, wanting to show Professor Dumbledore that she hadn't lied. The portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall. Dumbledore gestured Minerva to enter before following her. They both sat down in silence on two different sides of a wooden table.

"So," Dumbledore started after a while, "you seem to be on friendly terms with the Fat Lady."

"Yes," Minerva stated weakly. "I hope I still am."

"Oh, don't worry, dear!" Albus gave out a chuckle. "She defended you. I've never seen her to side with a student. She must be truly fond of you."

Minerva's cheeks visibly blushed, leaving the rest of her face ivory pale.

"You're not going to punish me, then, sir?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm not," he admitted, looking at his peculiar young Gryffindor with interest. "But, to be honest, Miss McGonagall, I am a little curious. How did you get so friendly with the Fat Lady? And why didn't you celebrate with the rest of your House?"

Minerva sighed with relief. She spoke a bit louder than before.

"I did, sir. I just didn't enjoy the party much. As for the Fat Lady, I'm not sure. One day I asked her how she does think up all the passwords she gives to the students and she opened up after a while. Told me interesting stories from her past, insisted that I shared mine. She must have guessed I had nobody to talk to."

"Nobody?" Professor Dumbledore interrupted. She looked around to make sure there was no one else in the room before giving her answer.

"Well, there's Sir Nicholas." She looked at her clasped hands. "We're having short talks once in a while. He's often busy."

"What about your brother?"

Minerva's face darkened a little.

"He has his own friends. Doesn't want to drag his little sister along."

Albus found it hard to believe. How could this charming girl be lonely in a castle full of people? Was her only company a portrait and a ghost? She didn't seem to be that hard to get along with.

"And who is this?" Albus indicated an orange owl who had just jumped on Minerva's shoulder to get some attention. Its grey face was watching him carefully.

"His name is Hermes, sir," she answered, stroking the bird's beak and feathers. Hermes hooted merrily. "Don't worry, he won't bite you."

Albus smiled faintly. An owl's bite was the least of his problems.

"Hi, Hermes. How are you?" he said, patting Hermes's head gently. "What kind of an owl is he?"

"Ashy-faced, sir. He's very friendly and sociable. Likes to cuddle up at any occasion."

There was a short silence before Professor Dumbledore got up to his feet.

"I'm sorry, but I need to get some sleep," he said, rubbing his eyes. "And so do you, I believe."

"You're right, sir," admitted Minerva, standing up. "Thank you for your time."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied with a nod and headed towards the exit.

Minerva watched her teacher go. She had no idea what had just happened. When he caught her out of the dormitory in the middle of the night, talking to the last person she wanted to be seen with, she was ashamed and scared. Of the consequences, sure, but more of the reaction of the only _living_ person, besides her family, that liked her back. What would a respected Hogwarts professor think of a student holding a conversation with magical canvas? To her astonishment, this particular wizard didn't seem angry nor irritated, but rather… concerned? She must have been imagining things if such a conclusion had crossed her mind. She sighed and turned back to her room.

"Miss McGonagall?" she heard Dumbledore's voice, which forced her to look around. The professor met her deep green eyes and continued. "Would you like to come tomorrow to my office for a cup of tea?"

Minerva was uncertain if she'd heard him correctly. He must have asked her _something_ , though, because he was clearly waiting for an answer.

"Sure," she finally said.

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Sir?" she called after Professor Dumbledore, wanting to add something, but hesitated.

Dumbledore smiled.

"You can bring Hermes along, if you'd like."

Minerva smiled back at him.

"Thank you, sir. And goodnight."

Albus nodded in response.

"Goodnight to you, too, my dear."


	4. Possibly rude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to My Tomato Days for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful notes.

When Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes, everything around him was covered in darkness. It could be either very late at night or very early in the morning, though Albus would bet for the latter, judging from the ringing of his alarm clock. The wizard blindly reached to his bedside table to turn it off.

He felt too sleepy to remember what on Merlin's name was the reason he had to get up at such an unearthly hour. Believing he would be reminded in a moment, he rubbed the corners of his eyes to prevent himself from drifting off. The professor yawned widely, and then sat up on the edge of the bed. It took him a while to realize that one of his bare feet wasn't touching the softness of his carpet, but rather something hard and angular. Then it came back to him. It was Christmas already! Suddenly very much awake, Albus lit the room with one move of his hand and looked down with excitement.

On the floor there was a small package from his brother Aberforth. Probably the next pair of woollen socks, he thought. Ever since their childhood, he and Aberforth hadn't been getting along well, but this simple fact had never stopped them from exchanging small gifts on various occasions. The two of them were each other's only family, after all.

Another present, significantly larger and nicely wrapped, had a note attached to it that said, "To our Albus." Dear Nicolas and Pernelle… Many years ago, before Albus had become the Transfiguration Professor, he met the Flamels during his trip around Europe. It took a lot of effort and persuasion, but the legendary alchemist had eventually agreed to teach Albus. Later, when Nicolas had taught the young Dumbledore everything he could, they were working side-by-side on enhancing the properties of the Elixir of Life. The married couple never had any children, therefore they treated Nicolas's former apprentice like their own son. For that Albus had always been very grateful. With his own parents long gone, he had no one else to care for him. For years now, he was the one to guide and protect others. The possibility to seek someone else's help or advice was very comforting.

Albus lifted both presents to put them on his lap and unpack. To his astonishment, there was one more thing lying on the parquet, next to the carpet. A yellow envelope addressed "To Professor Dumbledore".

"Who could have sent that?" was the question he asked more to himself than his pet phoenix. Fawkes took off from the perch and landed next to his owner. Dumbledore ripped the package to reveal a box of sweets and a note. He read the note first.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I found these sweets in a store when shopping with my family. I'm sorry I couldn't afford a higher amount with my allowances. I hope you like them anyway._

_I wish you a very Merry Christmas. I will see you in a week._

_Best regards,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Albus couldn't believe his eyes. He's been working at Hogwarts for what, ten years now? And he'd never received a Christmas present from a colleague, let alone a student. He felt truly honoured that young Miss McGonagall thought highly enough of him to send him… whatever she did. It wasn't important. For him, the note would have been enough.

The wizard was brought back to reality by a strong beak which kept rubbing his fingers with impatience.

"I know what you're trying to say, old friend," whispered the Deputy while stroking the bird's head with his other hand. "Albus, you'd better send something nice back to the girl if you don't want to appear thoughtless. Or, Merlin forbid, possibly rude."

Having finished the last sentence, Dumbledore got up to his feet and tried not to panic. It was Christmas. Every single shop in Britain was closed. He wouldn't be able to buy anything. What could he possibly give to his best student that lay within this very apartment? Albus looked around, thoughtful. He went to the living room, approached one of the bookshelves, and kept glancing at the titles.

 _How to un-Transfigure the in-Transfigurable._ No, too hard to read.

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._ Yeah, right. She'd laugh in his face.

 _Charms You Can Safely Perform in Your Bedroom._ Wait, what? What was this thing even doing there?!

_Find the Beast Within You - An Introduction to Animagi and Human Transfiguration._

Human Transfiguration? This one could… actually be appropriate. Minerva loved all kinds of Transfiguration. Every new topic fascinated her, gave her yet another reason to enlarge her knowledge. This book was on an advanced level, so he didn't suppose she would be able to understand it in the next year or two. But once she learned about Animagi in her third year, she should really enjoy its content. A perfect gift for a perfect student.

Dumbledore sighed with relief. He wished Minerva was in the castle, so that he could give her the present in person. He would observe her reaction in order to tell whether he picked right, because she was too well-mannered to say otherwise. But she was spending holidays with her family, so this wasn't an option. He would have to talk to her after the winter break. And hope that the school owls fly with high-speed.

There were times when the Transfiguration teacher would also consider leaving Hogwarts for Christmas. The school's tradition didn't require from both the Headmaster and his Deputy to be present on the ceremonial feast. But Armando had a wife and kids to spend this special time of a year with. And Albus had no reason or intention to deprive his boss of this privilege. After all, it wasn't that he himself had somewhere else to be.

Albus summoned a peacock quill to write a dedication on the first page of the book. He put a short letter behind the cover.

_Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_T_ _he following note is attached to my gift for you. This book covers important topics in Human Transfiguration - one of the most demanding branches, which also happens to be my favourite. Therefore, I highly hope it will be to your liking. If you have any questions, we may discuss the book's content whenever you seem appropriate._

_Have a very Merry Christmas with your family._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

The next thing he needed to do, after transfiguring the torn envelope into a colourful one with floral pattern, was mailing the parcel.

"I need to go to the Owlery," he said to Fawkes. "Are you coming with me?"

The phoenix gave him a disapproving look.

"I should have known," muttered Albus, heading towards the front door. Fawkes wasn't very fond of the school owls, even though most of them were behaving well. "Wait, then. It won't take long."

An invisible figure left the Transfiguration Professor's quarters, so that no student, professor or ghost that remained at Hogwarts would admire his new orange nightgown.


	5. To become one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to My Tomato Days for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful notes.

It was a warm evening on the Hogwarts grounds. With a gentle wind blowing through the treetops and not a single cloud on the darkening sky, these were the perfect conditions to fly on a broom. Minerva walked hastily towards the Quidditch pitch, a broomstick in her hand and Hermes on her shoulder.

Though she had barely finished her flying course, the girl was rather happy with her accomplishments so far. She held a broom steadily, having quickly learned how to control it, even at high speeds. She was a natural, according to Madam Jacobs, the flying instructor and Hogwarts teacher. The older witch was so impressed with her student's progress that she gave Minerva permission to use one of the school Cleansweeps whenever she needed to. At first, the girl would take the broomstick on a ride around the Quidditch pitch. Unless the older students had booked the field in advance, that is. Flying alone got boring soon, so one day she decided to take her pet owl along with her. They kept practicing together ever since.

"Going somewhere, Miss McGonagall?" she heard the Potions Master, Professor Slughorn, shouting from a distance. He walked in her direction with a smirk on his face, as if he was sure to catch her doing something she was not supposed to do. Minerva didn't like that smile.

"Yes, sir," she replied politely. The wizard must have been unsatisfied with her answer, as he continued to question her.

"Do you mind if I ask where it is you're going?"

"The Quidditch pitch, sir," Minerva said with impatience. Had this man nothing better to do at this hour? "I have a special permission from Madam Jacobs to use one of the Cleansweeps."

"May I see this permission?"

She put the note out of her pocket and handed it over. Professor Slughorn read it silently, nodding his head once in a while.

"Everything seems fine," he stated, giving the piece of parchment back to Minerva. "Have a nice flight, Miss McGonagall. The Gryffindors could use some good players next season."

"Thank you, sir."

The young witch bid her teacher goodbye and went her way before Professor Slughorn had a chance to say anything more. She wasn't in the mood to make up another excuse for not joining his club. She wasn't prejudiced, not at all. She came for their first meeting, and she didn't enjoy herself much. Everyone was talking about their rich and famous parents, aunts or uncles. Some were working for the Ministry, other belonged to the Quidditch teams and music bands Minerva had never heard about. And what was she supposed to say when they asked? That her father was a farmer and her mother didn't cast a single spell for the past twenty years? That they were never the same once the truth came out about their kids being wizards? Or that the only family member she could ever talk to about magic was her brother Malcolm? The whole situation was bad enough to handle when she was at home. She had no intention to relive it in front of a group of curious faces she barely knew. Her weekly conversations with Professor Dumbledore were far more entertaining.

Having reached the destination point, Minerva noticed that the pitch was occupied by Slytherins. She was out of luck.

"All right, Hermes, no warm-up today," she informed the owl after mounting the broom. "We're going to start at full speed. You ready, pal?"

Hermes took off with a loud hoot. He flew up high, then floated in mid-air, circling around Minerva. She joined him soon, kicking off the ground.

They made their usual turn around the lake, manoeuvring between flocks of wild Hippogriffs. After they had passed Ogg's hut, Hermes headed for the Forbidden Forest. Minerva followed close behind, enjoying the view below. The grounds looked wonderful at this time of the year. Tree crowns were covered in red and yellow leaves. The Great Lake's surface seemed flat like a mirror. The girl could see tiny silhouettes of witches and wizards who were taking a walk around the castle. Which stood magnificent, as ever.

Minerva closed her eyes. She loved the sensation of gliding in the air, the wind blowing in her ears, deafening most of the noises from her surroundings. She could keep telling herself that she came up here to spend some valuable time with Hermes. But the truth was, she needed to collect her thoughts. The girl slowed down, fastened her grip around the stick and tilted sideways to hang upside down, her legs entwined to keep her from falling. When she was younger, she used to climb trees and hang on their branches with her head down. That always seemed to relax her. She took her hands out of the broom, clenched them into fists, opened her eyes again and screamed.

"Why, on Merlin's sake, is he saying no to everything?!" she asked herself for like a hundredth time.

It had been a couple of weeks since the Head of Gryffindor House started to act in an unusual way. During the meals he was silent, contrary to his usual talkative approach. He often appeared to be deep in thoughts. With dark circles around his eyes, he looked downcast, as though he hadn't been smiling for weeks. His lessons were different, as well. No jokes were told, no allusions made, no reprimands given. The changes in the Transfiguration Professor's behaviour didn't escape his students' notice.

"Dumbledore has been acting weird lately, don't you think?" asked one of the Gryffindors, starting a heated discussion in the common room. The second years were making speculations inside their own little group.

"He hadn't tried anything funny this term," complained Monty Longbottom, one of Minerva's classmates. "Do you think he's sick or something?"

"Yeah, sick of reading your poor essays," added Alex Turner, a short thin boy who liked making fun of everyone around him.

"Shut up, Alex," said Lupin harshly, defending his friend. "It's serious. The wizard's been gloomy for weeks now. Maybe someone should go and talk to him?"

Augusta smiled at the thought.

"I know the right person for the job," she stated, discretely pointing in Minerva's direction.

All the faces turned to the quiet girl who was working on her homework in the far corner of the room. She hid her face behind a book, pretending not to have heard a word from their conversation.

"Hey, Minerva," Augusta greeted her friend, taking a place on a couch next to her. "Stop pretending, I know you've heard us. What do you say? Will you try to find out what's wrong with Dumbledore?"

"I've already tried," she answered quietly, so that no one could overhear them. "He wouldn't hint anything."

"Ask directly, then," the other girl pointed out, gesturing with her hands in excitement. "Come on, Minerva. Don't make us beg you."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"Because he likes you," Augusta answered, leaning forward. "You won't get yourself in trouble by asking him questions. So, what do you say?"

Minerva was considering the unusual request. This wasn't the strangest thing Augusta had tried to persuade her to do. To be honest, Minerva was curious herself. She simply couldn't find the right moment to weave the question into the conversation. Maybe this was the high time to try again? After a few more pleads, she finally gave in.

"Alright, I'll do it," Minerva gritted out through clenched teeth. "Just stop whining! I have work to do."

So there she was, standing in front of the Deputy's office, unsure of what to do or say. She took a deep sigh before knocking on the door, and opened it without waiting for an answer.

"Good evening, Professor," she said in a little more than a whisper, having no intention to disturb her teacher's work.

He attempted to smile invitingly from behind his desk, but produced a strange grimace instead.

"Good to see you, Miss McGonagall," the wizard replied, putting down his quill. He glanced at the clock. "I started to think you wouldn't come."

She followed his gaze. Ten past seven. She had never been late for their meetings before. Gathering herself must have taken longer than she'd expected.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "I lost track of time."

"No harm done," he answered, gesturing for her to come inside. "Please, sit down."

Minerva took the usual chair on another side of the desk. She felt nearly as nervous as during her first visit, not knowing where to look nor what to do with her hands. She hated being uncertain with herself. But then, the situation was quite uncommon.

"Is there something in particular you want to discuss today?" asked Professor Dumbledore, and then waited patiently for an answer.

"There is one thing," she admitted. Her voice sounded hoarse, so she cleared her throat. She couldn't back out now. "But I'd like to ask you something first."

Raising his eyebrows in mild astonishment, he said,

"Go ahead, then."

The girl wasn't sure whether Augusta's idea was any good, after all. Half an hour of walking there and back again before her teacher's office and she still failed to form a question that wouldn't sound too intimate or awkward. There was no time to think about it now. Having taken a deep breath, she decided to voice her thoughts in the most direct way.

"Professor, has there been something bothering you?"

Dumbledore was looking at his student, as though he saw her for the first time in his life. This lasted only a second, after which he blinked and rearranged his facial expression to erase any sign of emotions from his weary face. He shook his head.

"No, Miss McGonagall, I don't think there has," he answered slowly. With his mouth suddenly dry, he licked his lips before finishing his thought. "Although, I appreciate your concern."

Minerva straightened in her seat. Her suspicious look was showing signs of disbelief, as her brows furrowed slightly. She didn't seem convinced.

"Sir, are you sure?" she dwelled on the subject. She herself might've been wrong in her judgment, imagining things or overinterpreting. The entire Gryffindor Tower couldn't have, though. "I mean, lately, you've been acting… ," she searched for a suitable word, "different."

The wizard turned his head left to face the window. The sun was setting, creating a spectacular view. He seemed not to have noticed.

"I assure you there's nothing you should be worried about, my dear."

From the look on his face, Minerva knew the topic was closed. There was no reason to ask any more questions. She nodded sadly, feeling a sense of injustice.

Many times before, she put her trust in him, having shared personal information with the wizard. Things she didn't want anyone else to know. Things she was sure he wouldn't repeat to anyone if she asked him not to. Professor Dumbledore was always listening to her problems, taking them seriously, however little or insignificant they might have appeared. She told him about having troubles with making friends. Her father joining the military. Mother training to become a mediwitch. Malcolm leaving the country with his girlfriend. Why didn't he let her return the favour? Didn't he trust her, after all? All she wanted to do is to be there for him when he apparently needed it. She didn't understand his actions. Any of them.

"Do you like Quidditch?" the professor asked unexpectedly, interrupting her track of thoughts.

"I've never played it, sir," she replied automatically.

"But you know the rules, I presume?"

The girl nodded.

"Our team needs a new Seeker and a Chaser," the Head of House informed, looking back at his student. "The trials are being held next Thursday. Wouldn't you like to give it a try?"

"I'll think about it," she replied curtly.

Truth be told, Minerva couldn't wait to join the team since she saw her first match. But as angry as she was with her professor, she wasn't in a mood for small talks and had no intention to hide it. There was another topic, though, that she had to bring up before leaving.

"I've finished your book," she said with forced calmness.

He was surprised with her, she could easily tell. Tired as he was, her teacher became much easier to read. Then, he probably thought she understood every theorem and principle the book contained. That wasn't even close to the truth. Nevertheless, Minerva needed a consultation.

"And how did you find it?" Dumbledore asked with mild interest.

"I enjoyed it very much," she said truthfully. "But there are several things I would like to discuss with you."

"What are these, Miss McGonagall?"

"How long does it take to become an Animagus?"

The Transfiguration Professor scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"The most adept witches and wizards succeed in mere years," he answered, choosing his words with care. "But it usually takes a little longer than that."

"And is there a certain age when one should start the training?"

A deep crease appeared on his forehead. He didn't like where this was going.

"I don't believe there to be an age limit. One needs to learn certain spells before attempting to transform, though."

Minerva nodded slowly, looking in her teacher's direction, but seeing past him with an unfocused gaze.

"Is the learning process as hard as they describe?"

"Yes, I would say it is," the wizard admitted, resting both his arms on the desktop and joining the fingertips. "Why do you ask?"

She clenched her fists on her knees, unknowingly holding her breath. But she didn't hesitate when she made an eye contact and asked,

"Would you teach me to become one?"


	6. "Couldn't do this"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to Jezebel Jai-Braxlin for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful remarks.

Rolanda Hooch, the Gryffindor Chaser, was walking around the Hogwarts grounds, apparently looking for someone.

"Where the hell did you go?" she muttered under her breath.

The girl put a hat on her head to cover her short blonde hair, cursing the windy autumn weather. She had agreed, on Cynthia's behalf, to give the team members notice about the change of time in today's training session. It was supposed to be an easy task, as almost every Gryffindor was nice enough to warm up in front of the fireplace in the common room. Unfortunately, the newest addition to the team was to be found nowhere in the castle. Therefore, Rolanda was forced to leave the cosy interior in favour of the cold, unfriendly outdoors.

Having spotted a dark figure near the lake, she went to investigate. What caught her eye were several books lying around in tall grass, and one levitating in mid-air. Waving her wand at it was the very person Rolanda had hoped to find.

"Hey, Minerva!" she shouted at the sight of her fellow team mate. "We're starting our Quidditch training an hour earlier than planned. Half of the Ravenclaw players are sick, so they cancelled their reservation."

"Alright," Minerva answered, her eyes focused on the tip of her wand. She was trying very hard not to lose concentration. "I'll be there."

Rolanda was watching the young witch carefully. To her, Minerva always seemed a little strange. She was much more serious than the rest of the Gryffindor team, despite being the youngest. For a second year student, she was quite a decent flier. Not a good team worker, though, as she tended to put little trust in people doing their jobs. And preferred to do it for them. Her attitude had almost cost the Gryffindors their first match of the season. This was the main reason for re-appointing Minerva as the Keeper, despite her being a better Chaser. In the beginning, the captain was worried about the amount of time one of the top students would be willing to spend on the Quidditch pitch. Fortunately, her concerns turned out to be unjustified. It looked like Minerva was managing just fine, even finding a moment or two to have some fun. Whatever that was

"What are you doing?" asked Rolanda after a moment.

"Practising," was all the response she got. Rolanda sighed. You always had to be very specific with Minerva.

"Practising what?" she pursued the issue.

"You'll see for yourself if you stop talking," said Minerva slowly. She made a circular move with her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, which had been lying in front of Minerva, was now levitating five feet above the ground. 

"Big deal," commented Rolanda after seeing this. Every first year had to know this spell. Moreover, Minerva was probably the first one to perform it properly. Her casting it now was nothing special.

"Watch this."

Another "Wingardium Leviosa!" and The Standard Book of Spells, much thinner than the previous book, started flying in mid-air.

"Come on, Minerva!" said Rolanda with impatience. "Stop casting the same spell over and over again. What are you doing that for, anyway? I thought you've already succeeded in performing a perfect Levitation Charm in class."

"Maybe I have," the girl agreed. "But then, I couldn't do this."

One flick of the wand and all the three books began to ascend higher and higher. Then, they stopped at once on a considerable height, from which one could no longer tell their titles. Fastening a grip at her wand, Minerva ended the first spell. The hard-covered volume was falling down, gaining speed. A second later, the other two had joined it in a free fall, each being at a different height. 

Before Rolanda managed to express her surprise, Minerva cast three quick Switching Spells. The book on her left changed into a red needlepoint pillow. The middle one was now a big Hippogriff feather dropping down in swings. The right one, on the other hand, took the form of a soft teddy bear, but only after hitting the ground with one of its corners. Much to Minerva's disappointment. With resignation, the girl transfigured her things back to their original shapes.

"Nice one!" shouted Rolanda, giving her friend a respectful pat on the shoulder. "How did you do that?"

"Magic," Minerva answered with a small laugh, as she examined the ripped cover of her spell book and put all of her belongings into the backpack. Feeling tired and a little dizzy, she wasn't in a mood to talk much. After noticing Rolanda's disapproving look, however, she knew she was expected to provide a proper explanation. "When I showed Malcolm that I could already perform a few spells from the Intermediate Transfiguration textbook, he wasn't impressed at all. Said I'm going to learn them in a year, anyway. Advised me on doing something I couldn't find in the books. So, I came up with this. Of course, I wanted to start with something simple."

"You call this simple?" Rolanda asked in disbelief.

"You bet I do," Minerva stated, making a serious face. "Try transfiguring animals in motion. Or plants."

"With your skills, learning that shouldn't be a problem."

The younger witch shook her head in response.

"We've just started dealing with animate objects in class. It's going to be a while before I can Converto my ink bottle into a mouse. Or a bird, at least." She sighed and pushed her black hair away from her face. "I wish I could learn it faster, though."

"Maybe you could ask one of the teachers for assistance?" suggested Rolanda. "I don't think Dumbledore would mind helping you."

It was no secret that Minerva liked their Transfiguration Professor. But really, who didn't? He was a very nice young wizard with a good sense of humour and many interesting things to say. He hardly ever got angry with anyone and was reluctant to give detentions. People who hated his subject liked him. And Minerva's attitude towards Transfiguration was quite the opposite.

"Maybe," Minerva replied absent-mindedly. She'd had no intention to ask Professor Dumbledore for help, since he didn't agree to teach her to be an Animagus. This didn't mean she gave up on becoming one, though, as she kept mentioning the matter on various occasions. The girl didn't want to distract her teacher with anything else until he said yes. "But first, I want to see how much I can do on my own."

"Fair enough," said Rolanda with a nod. "Come on, we'd better get going."


	7. "Hot like a Horntail"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to Jezebel Jai-Braxlin for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful remarks.

"What are you insinuating, Albus?" asked Armando Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, wandering nervously around his office. As the conversation progressed, he was losing what was left of his patience. For the last half an hour, he and his Deputy had been talking about the latest events having occurred in continental Europe. Grindelwald's army enforced a reign of terror in the Third Reich by overthrowing the Ministry and gaining control of the majority of the Nazi Party. However, there was no indication Grindelwald was planning to widen his influence outside the borders. On the contrary, it seemed the situation in Germany had quieten down. It was possible that the Dark Wizard had focused all attention on the construction of his headquarters -- a high jet black fortress at the top of Zugspitze.

Apparently, Dumbledore thought otherwise and was trying very hard to convince Dippet to his rights. The Deputy Headmaster shifted slightly in the chair in an attempt to make eye contact with his employer.

"I am trying to tell you," said Albus, fully articulating every word, as if he was explaining something utterly obvious to a stubborn child, "we are in greater danger than you think."

Armando rubbed the hand over his face. He'd never thought there would be a moment he failed to understand the wizard sitting in front of him. Dumbledore's train of thoughts was usually very clear to him, as the wizard tended to provide solid arguments to support his opinions. However, the outbreak of two wars seemed to make this train run off course. The Transfiguration Professor became enigmatic and mysterious, sharing many observations but explaining none.

"But what danger?" nearly shouted the Headmaster. "If you want me to notify Spencer-Moon, I need to know the details. Why would Grindelwald be leaving Germany?"

Albus closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. Of course he knew the answer. Years ago, he and Gellert were working together on a plan of wizards' domination and enslavement of Muggles. At first, these were just pure speculations. By the end of the summer, however, the boys had elaborated every single detail. Albus's input was crucial to accomplish their common goal. Therefore, it was obvious that certain parts of the plan had to be altered. But the core, it seemed, remained unchanged.

"I can't tell you that," whispered Professor Dumbledore, examining the carpet beneath his feet.

His boss wouldn't have understood, the Deputy Headmaster was sure of it. Armando was a good wizard and a dear friend, but Albus had always feared his reaction. Finding out that his closest colleague had nearly become the second Grindelwald might have been too much for the Headmaster to take in. Even Nicolas didn't know why his young apprentice had left Godric's Hollow in such a hurry. Albus wasn't ready to face the demons of his past. At least, not yet.

"Then what makes you think," asked Dippet, taking deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm, "that our war is connected to the Muggle war?"

Albus didn't dare to look in the Headmaster's direction.

"I can't tell you that, either," he said, even more quietly than before.

Professor Dippet was getting angrier by the minute. His face turned scarlet, his hands were clenched tightly into fists, his nostrils widened. The dark brown eyes were on fire.

"Then how, on Merlin's butt, are you expecting me to believe any of this?!"

His shouts would make many wizards flinch, but all Dumbledore did was challenge his friend with such a fierce ice-cold gaze that the other wizard had to look away.

"I thought you knew me well enough to trust me, Armando," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

"If you wanted to make decisions of this significance," said Dippet sharply, "why didn't you become the Minister? You were the first choice after Fawley had resigned."

When Albus didn't answer, Armando thought it better not to press the subject. He sighed heavily. He was getting too old for all of this.

"Listen…" the Headmaster continued a bit calmer, putting his hand on the Deputy's shoulder. "I can't take certain measures based on a hunch. So, unless you give me a proper explanation, I'm afraid I'll have to turn down your request."

"I see…" stated Dumbledore, unhappy with the outcome of the meeting. He stood up, swept past his boss and headed to the door. "Sorry for wasting your time."

"Albus," Dippet stopped him on the doorstep. "I'm sorry. I hope you understand my position."

The Head of Gryffindor House nodded, left the Headmaster's office and walked silently towards his private quarters.

Lying in bed and watching the dark ceiling above him, Dumbledore was thinking bitterly over his conversation with Armando. Could he have played the cards differently and achieve the desired result? Albus wasn't sure. Since he got the recent issue of the Daily Prophet, he'd been looking forward to his talk with the Headmaster, as every other staff member had neglected his suspicions. Only to find that his employer didn't take him seriously, either. All he could do at the moment was hope for his assumptions to turn out to be wrong. Why the hell didn't anyone even try to listen to what he was saying?

But before he could answer himself, his eyelids became too heavy to keep his eyes open any longer. He hugged one of the pillows and fell into a shallow restless sleep.

Then, he heard voices.

"Albus…" sounded a short whisper. It kept getting louder. "Albus!"

He rolled over to one side, covering his ears with a duvet.

"Albus!" There it was again. But this time his name was followed by, "Oh, for heaven's sake, wake up!"

The Transfiguration Professor slowly turned to face a painting of an angry-looking middle-aged wizard who, for the time being, was supposed to be napping in the office.

"I've heard you the first five times, Henerick," Dumbledore said, yawning loudly. "What is it?"

Henerick straightened his bizarre-looking hat, a nervous habit he couldn't get rid of even after his death.

"You have a student trying to break into your office," he informed the Head of House, pointing toward the door. "She says it's urgent."

"Tell her I'm on my way."

A rush of adrenaline made Albus practically jump out of bed. He put on his shoes and a dressing gown, tying it on his way out. He wondered about the type of emergency he was about to face this time. Was it a broken bone, an uncontrolled use of magic, a sick student? Or maybe his oldest Gryffindors got drunk and charmed the common room beyond recognition? No, they couldn't have, it's not Friday yet. What could it be, then? Having unlocked the entrance door, he didn't need to keep guessing.

"Miss Hooch!" said the professor, surprised to see a person who was not a Prefect. "I wasn't expecting you. What happened?"

"Sir," the girl began in a voice shaking with emotions. "Please, come with me. Quick! There's something wrong with Minerva."

Mere minutes later, Rolanda stormed back into the girls' dormitory. She was followed by a very underdressed Head of House, who was whispering words of apology to the rest of the girls for disturbing their sleep.

"Professor!" said Minerva from one of the four-posters, her eyes wide with shock and fear. And anger, as she added, "Rolanda!"

"I've warned you," the blonde girl stated matter-of-factly.

Indeed, she had. "Go get checked in the Hospital Wing or I'll make Dumbledore drag you there," were her exact words. Minerva was sure her friend wouldn't have the guts.

Apparently, she did.

"How are you feeling, Miss McGonagall?" asked the professor, approaching his student's bed. He looked really worried. Minerva didn't even want to think what Rolanda must have told the wizard to upset him that much. Probably that his star student was dying from an unidentified, very contagious disease. She'd have to settle the matter with her friend later, when her head would stop aching this badly.

"I'm fine, Professor," she replied, pretending that nothing had happened. What gave her away was a loud throaty cough, which she failed to suppress.

She wasn't fine, Albus had noticed at once. She hadn't moved an inch since he came in, making no attempt to sit up, or as much as lift her head. The girl was unnaturally pale. Her lips formed a straight thin line. Every muscle of her body was tense, which indicated she was in pain, although she was doing her best not to show it. 

Professor Dumbledore approached his student's bed and kneeled beside it. Minerva felt a huge palm delicately placed on her forehead, which was withdrawn after a while.

"You're hot like a little Horntail," stated the Head of Gryffindor House, his brows furrowed. "We need to get you to the Hospital Wing."

Minerva wanted to put on another protest, but then she felt her head make a sweeping swirl. Involuntarily, she shut her eyes to make the red and blue spots disappear. When they did, she glanced at the professor with an unfocused gaze.

"Sir, come on," she said, trying very hard to coherently voice her thoughts. "I don't want to go. They're overreacting."

She indicated Augusta and Rolanda, who were watching her carefully from a certain distance. Her other roommates had no idea anything had happened, having fallen back to sleep behind the curtains. Or pretending to.

"Your friends are worried about you," whispered Professor Dumbledore in a soothing voice. "So am I."

Minerva closed her eyes again. Her breaths were short and shallow. The conversation must have tired her.

"I'll tell you what," suggested Albus, slightly leaning forward. "We'll walk together to Madam Maius, who will cast a quick diagnostic spell to confirm you're alright. Having put our minds at ease, you will calmly go back to sleep. What do you say?"

She didn't know whether it was the tone of Dumbledore's voice or her body giving into the condition she was in. Nevertheless, the girl felt she'd already lost the argument. Admitting defeat, she got out from under the blankets, still fully dressed due to the cold chills she was having. Letting no one support her, Minerva walked slowly towards the Hospital Wing in a close company of Rolanda, Augusta and their Head of House.

When the group arrived at the entrance, they noticed that the room was dark and locked. It seemed as if there was no one inside. Albus knocked vigorously.

"Marion!" he called from behind a massive wooden door. He knocked once more. "Marion, open up! It's urgent."

He could hear steps from the other side. Someone put a key into the lock, which grated in response. The door stood open.

"Finally," stated Dumbledore, wasting no time for greetings. "Let us in. We have an emergency."

"Which of you is the patient?" asked Madam Maius factually, having moved from the doorway.

"Minerva is," informed Albus, allowing the girls to enter first. Then, he whispered, "She doesn't look good, Marion."

"I'll see what I can do," the mediwitch replied in a hushed voice. "Wait in my office, you may need to inform the parents."

Then, she approached the hospital bed the two students had already sat on.

"Girls, out! Leave me alone with the patient."

With reluctance, Rolanda and Augusta left Minerva, who was coughing so hard she had troubles to catch her breath. They sat on the floor, their backs to the wall, and waited silently on the corridor, near the entrance door.

Ten minutes later, they were joined by Professor Dumbledore.

"It would be best if you went back to your dormitories," he informed them, crossing his arms on his chest. "I don't suppose Miss McGonagall will be able to receive any visitors until morning."

"No, Professor!" Rolanda protested. "We won't go anywhere. We're not…" she yawned widely, "sleepy yet."

"I fully understand your concern," he said kindly. "However, I would highly appreciate if you got some sleep. You have classes tomorrow."

"So do you," Rolanda muttered under her breath.

"Can you guarantee," said Augusta, suppressing a yawn, "we'll be allowed to see Minerva first thing in the morning?"

"I certainly can, Miss Finch," the Transfiguration Professor replied seriously, making a note to inform the mediwitch about the girls' early arrival.

"Alright, then," stated Augusta, lifting from the floor. "Come on, Rolanda."

Rolanda wasn't particularly thrilled with her friend's decision. She listened, nevertheless. The girls bid their teacher goodbye and left him in the semi-darkness, alone with his thoughts.

Dumbledore had no idea how much time had passed before Madam Maius finally came out to the corridor. She stood next to him, leaning heavily against the wall. She looked exhausted and weary, but reacted to Albus's interrogative stare.

"She's stable," the mediwitch answered an unasked question. "There's been a serious case of acute respiratory failure. The tissue surrounding her trachea had been damaged, which caused an internal bleeding. The liquid gathered in the lungs, and this resulted in slow suffocation."

She made a short pause for her speech to sink in. Then, she continued.

"I stopped the bleeding, cleared the respiratory tract and gave the patient several anti-inflammatory potions. She should feel much better in a couple of hours, but I would like to keep her for a day or two to make sure she's fully recovered."

Albus heaved a sigh of relief. Again, he felt grateful to work with such a dedicated witch.

"I don't know how to thank you."

"Stop it," Madam Maius scolded him, waving her hand with neglect. "I'm just doing my job."

The wizard smiled sadly, watching the tips of his joined fingers. The next question he brought up with an unexpected difficulty.

"Are you able to tell what could have caused Minerva's condition?"

The witch thought for a second.

"It looks like an ill-placed spell to me. I'd name a human transfiguration gone wrong. But I don't want to believe that any sixth or seventh-year would dare to practice on a little girl."

Albus licked his dry lips. He was almost certain this was not the case. He had four N.E.W.T. level students, and not a single one of them would purposely hurt another student. Dumbledore knew only one other witch or wizard who was talented and stupid enough to perform complex spells on herself.

"May I see her?" he asked hopefully.

If Marion was surprised by his question, she didn't show it.

"Of course," she answered in the affirmative. "I put her to sleep for the time of the procedure, which means she may be a little confused when she wakes up. She's resting now, so please do not disturb her more than necessary."

"Thank you. I won't take long."

Professor Dumbledore came back to the Hospital Wing. He watched his every step, cautious not to make any noise. In the far corner of the room he saw a dark shadowy figure lying motionless in white bedclothes. He approached it and wordlessly conducted a chair for himself.

His student was sleeping. She was breathing with more ease now, although one could hear a quiet whistle every time she breathed out. Her black hair matched the dark circles around her eyes. The contrast between them and her white skin was striking.

Albus put his head in his hands and sighed shakily. From what he had learned, he deduced that Minerva's self-transforming spell must have backfired, and because of that she'd nearly drowned in her own blood. Terrible thing.

There was something that frightened him at the moment. The spell Minerva had supposedly performed could be easily found in the book he gave her. The girl wasn't ready to use it in practice. She couldn't have been, not at this age. The Transfiguration Professor couldn't help thinking it was all his fault. He should've known Minerva well enough to tell she'd try pursuing her dream of achieving the Animagus transformation with or without his help. Once again in his short life, Albus had unintentionally hurt someone close to him, focusing all of his attention on Gellert. Lately, he'd been making the worst decisions possible.

He almost jumped when he felt a hand on his forearm and heard a hushed voice saying,

"Professor?"

Looking up immediately, he met a worn-out expression of his young Gryffindor. Her grip was very weak. He took her hand into his and squeezed it lightly before placing it back next to her.

"Miss McGonagall," the wizard replied, drawing nearer in order to hear her better. " My apologies. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh no, you didn't," Minerva assured him. "You didn't wake me, sir," she corrected herself almost immediately. Then, she looked around. "Where am I?"

"You're lying in the hospital bed. Madam Maius had successfully fixed you. She wishes to observe you for a while, just in case."

"I see," said the young witch, slowly taking a deep breath to make sure nothing hurt her. "I hope I'll be able to attend tomorrow's classes."

Professor Dumbledore rose his brows in surprise at the change of subject. Minerva seemed to be totally unconcerned with the state of her health. Wasn't she curious what had caused her symptoms? Perhaps she'd already known. He had to be sure, though.

"Madam Maius decided it was advisable to tell me what had caused your illness."

In response, Minerva lowered her eyes and shifted uncomfortably under the covers.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Indeed, you shouldn't have," he stated, carefully observing her reactions. "Yet, you did. Did you know the effects this particular spell might have on you?"

"Yes, sir," the girl said in a slightly hissing voice. She hated to admit she was wrong. "But still, I wasn't expecting serious complications. Especially that everything seemed fine at first."

As Minerva didn't give away too many details, Albus was forced to think twice about every word he spoke.

"Haven't I warned you students should be supervised when casting certain spells?"

"You did, Professor," she answered, suddenly feeling like a little girl being lectured by her parent. "But I'm quite good at transfiguration. I thought I could handle it."

And then, he knew. Albus forced a big lump down his throat. So, it was his fault, after all.

"You were reckless to transfigure yourself without letting anyone know," said the Transfiguration Professor, his voice turning out unexpectedly sharp. He didn't want to yell at her. There will be time to reprimand his student later. Trying to meet her gaze, he asked quietly, "Why didn't you let me know?"

Minerva was determined to look everywhere but at him.

"Well… I don't know…" she stated, no sign of confidence in her voice. "Maybe because you disagreed to train me."

"That wasn't my wisest idea," he admitted after a while. He didn't plan to make the same mistake twice. "Maybe we could renegotiate the matter tomorrow. What do you say?"

Albus's proposition was rewarded with Minerva's faint, but happy smile.


	8. "Dark little secret"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am extremely grateful to Jezebel Jai-Braxlin for beta reading the following story and providing many helpful remarks.

Minerva was getting impatient.

She couldn't wait for her first Animagus lesson. The young witch wanted to learn how to shape-shift at will from the first time she read about it in a book. When Professor Dumbledore finally agreed to teach her, she was glowing with happiness. A week later, the girl was standing in front of the Staff Room, waiting for the Transfiguration Professor to pack his things and find a suitable classroom. Nervous as she was, in her palms she kept rotating three books borrowed from the library. Two of them, on advanced shielding charms and things that could go wrong when transforming oneself, were advised by the professor for further reading. The third one she took out of curiosity. Dragon Blood on Your Hands - How to Use It Efficiently by Albus Dumbledore.

As it was already after dinner, there weren't many students walking around the corridors. One of them, for reasons completely unknown to Minerva, apparently thought it a good idea to approach her.

"You must be McGonagall," the boy said in a flat, emotionless tone." I've heard many things about you."

Minerva looked him over from head to foot. He was a head taller than she was. His dark eyes matched the blackness of his slicked-back hair. The girl was sure he belonged to the Slytherin House, as they shared a class or two. Yet, she knew nothing more about him. It wasn't surprising, as he wasn't the attention-seeking kind of wizard.

"What sort of things?" she asked with interest. Judging from his voice, it couldn't have been anything positive.

The boy smiled at her question. But the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You know, the usual. Half-blood. Top grades in every subject. Dumbledore's pet."

She didn't like the way he said it. He made it sound as though these were all the worst insults possible.

"You seem to be well-informed, Mister…"

"Forgive my manners." The Slytherin held out a hand. "My name is Riddle. Tom Riddle. I'm glad we finally met."

Good he stated that, thought Minerva. She never would have guessed. With reluctance, she shook his hand and replied,

"Nice to meet you, too."

"I've noticed you're not spending much time with anyone who's worth your interest," he stated out of the blue. "Professor Slughorn is inviting people over. He wanted me to ask you to come."

Minerva wondered why the professor didn't ask her in person, as he usually did, but said nothing.

"I'll think about it," she replied with forced kindness. 

She wanted to get rid of this unwanted company as soon as possible. She disliked Tom for what seemed like no particular reason. He didn't openly offend her, but there was something else about him that disturbed Minerva. During the entire conversation, the boy didn't express a single emotion. Nor took his eyes from hers. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. His gaze was so much different from Dumbledore's. She was under the impression it not only pierced right through her, but also invaded her mind.

"Reading Dumbledore's book?" asked Tom, indicating one of the leather-covered volumes Minerva was holding. "Good. One needs to know what kind of people he's dealing with."

"What do you mean?" the girl responded, much less friendly.

For the first time, the young Slytherin produced a genuine smile.

"I could tell you things about your dear professor that would make you hate him forever."

Her face paled. Who was Riddle to insinuate such things about Professor Dumbledore? He couldn't have known the wizard better than she did.

"And why would I believe this sort of crap?" said Minerva boldly, her brows furrowed, her hands clenched into fists.

"A liar, now, am I?" Tom noted with a smirk. "If you don't believe me, ask him about his dark little secret. See what stories he makes up to cover the truth about his past."

Minerva's knuckles whitened. She was close to losing her temper. No one could insult a person she respected and go unpunished. She reached for her wand.

"How dare you, you little--"

But a little what he was, Tom never learned. The Staff Room door stood wide open and Albus Dumbledore came out, holding a key in his hand. Highly surprised, Albus looked from Minerva to Tom and back again. Having taken in the scene for what it appeared to be, he found the situation highly unlikely. Therefore, instead of scolding his favourite student, he asked in a calm voice,

"Is there a problem?"

Both of the students looked up to meet Professor Dumbledore's concerned gaze. Most of Minerva's wrath left her after she realized the position she'd put herself into. Tom's face didn't even twitch.

"No, Professor," said Riddle with false courtesy, which made Minerva feel sick. "It was simply a misunderstanding."

"Is that true, Miss McGonagall?" the wizard inquired, his eyes lingering on the young Slytherin for another second.

She nodded sharply, discretely scowling into Riddle's direction.

"Good," stated Dumbledore. Then, he addressed the boy, "Would you excuse us, Tom? Miss McGonagall and I have a lesson to attend."

Tom?

"Of course, sir," the student replied, stretching out each sound. "Have a fruitful… lesson."

"Thank you, Tom," said the professor, nodding curtly. "Come on, my dear."

He gestured for the young witch to follow him, which she gratefully did. After Tom disappeared behind the corner, Albus turned to Minerva.

"I hope Mr. Riddle didn't cause you any trouble."

When the girl didn't respond, he added,

"You see, his situation is quite unusual. The boy was brought up in a place where he wasn't properly looked after. He only learned about being a wizard when I delivered his acceptance letter. There is a lot for him to learn, and I do not mean the school subjects. I want you to keep that in mind before you curse the poor boy."

Minerva nodded automatically, feeling slightly embarrassed. Dumbledore sounded convinced, but she herself doubted the boy's attitude would ever change. According to one of her teachers, some people simply couldn't fulfil certain expectations.

Before the girl noticed, she and the professor had entered an unused classroom on the second floor. It was a little dusty and stuffy, but aside from that this place wasn't much different from any other room she had her classes in.

"What are we going to start with, sir?" she asked, facing her teacher.

"First," said Professor Dumbledore, sitting on the edge of the desk, "we need to find your Patronus, your spiritual guardian. It takes the form of an animal or, on rare occasions, a magical creature. To conjure it, you need to cast the spell called the Patronus Charm. Have you ever heard of it?"

Minerva shook her head.

"Let me explain, then," Albus continued. "It's one of the most powerful defensive charms. Extremely complicated to perform, but even more useful once you do it correctly. For now, let us focus on conjuring its non-corporeal form. You need to memorize the following incantation: Expecto Patronum."

"Expecto Patronum," Minerva repeated.

"Excellent," praised Professor Dumbledore. "Now, try to recall your happiest memory. It's very important, probably as important as the incantation itself."

Minerva scanned her mind in search for a suitable event from her past. Coming to Hogwarts was the first to cross her mind. But there were other things. Spending time with Dumbledore, for one thing. Being accepted to the Quidditch team. Winning her first match. Buying her first pet.

She refocused her gaze on the patiently waiting wizard.

"I think I've got one, sir."

He nodded.

"We'll try it, then."

The young witch drew out her wand and hesitated.

"Professor, what about the wand movement?"

"There isn't any," said Dumbledore, the corners of his lips twitching at the surprised expression of his student. "Simply point in the desired direction."

Minerva aimed at the empty space between the desks. She remembered her excitement from the day she bought Hermes. And the day before, as mother couldn't wait to tell her the big news. It was soon after the girl got her acceptance letter. She didn't even have to make a choice. The first owl she saw, it was hers. All she did was pick a name.

She imagined a little fluffy ball of feathers watching her with adoration.

"Expecto Patronum!" Minerva shouted without any warning. She kept repeating the spell over and over again. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum. Expecto--"

"Calm down, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore interrupted her. "It is a very advanced piece of magic. You cannot expect to succeed on your first attempt."

The girl sighed with frustration.

"I guess…" she admitted, panting slightly. "It doesn't make it any less frustrating, though."

"You will get it right, I promise," said the professor encouragingly. "For now, why don't you take a break and let me bring you a cup of hot chocolate?"

Minerva smiled at the prospect, but still felt slightly disappointed with her lack of progress. With a single tap of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a tray with a pot of milk, a bowl of cocoa and two cups. They both sat down on opposite sides of the teacher's desk. The young witch looked around the desktop with interest.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Albus while pouring the hot liquid. The girl looked up to meet his piercing glare.

"What have you transformed, Professor?" she indicated the silver tray.

"Nothing," he admitted, returning to his previous activity. "I had it prepared before the lesson started. Real drinks are much tastier, Min… Miss McGonagall."

"You can call me by my first name, if you wish, sir," said Minerva in one breath, so that her teacher couldn't tell how much his answer would mean to her. 

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, her cheeks grew pink, highlighting an uncertain expression. But her dark green eyes were full of expectation, never leaving the professor's face, searching for a reaction.

Albus raised his eyebrows, slightly taken aback. He was flattered, but at the same time he wondered what prompted Minerva to make such an unusual request. At first, the wizard wanted to kindly refuse her proposition. But then he realized how much courage she had to muster in order to suggest what she did.

"Thank you, my dear," he replied with a soft smile. "I'll bear that in mind."

They both drank in silence, until Minerva attempted to bring up another subject.

"What are our plans for the next lessons?" she asked from above her hot drink.

"For now, we need to determine the shape of your Patronus, as your Animagus form will be the same," the wizard informed her. "After we succeed, we are going to focus on enhancing your quite impressive skills on human transfiguration."

At this, Minerva hunched forward slightly. Every time the professor mentioned her unlucky accident, she was sure he would make another comment on her lack of responsibility. He never did, though.

"You don't need to worry," Dumbledore resumed, taking on a more serious look. "I will take all necessary precautions not to put your health nor life in danger."

"Thank you… for the drink, Professor," said Minerva, looking down. She truly appreciated all the effort her teacher was willing to put into her education. She put the cup away and got to her feet. "I think I'm going to try again."

The Transfiguration Professor followed her to the middle of the classroom and waited for her next move. Having noticed an unsure look at his student's face, the wizard said calmly,

"Ready when you are, Minerva."

She smiled kindly at the sound of her given name. Then, the young witch focused on another memory, having taken the previous one for not being strong enough. She pointed her wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"


	9. "Forgetting yourself"

She was late. Again.

Augusta couldn't remember the last time her friend arrived on time for meals. Minerva usually showed up when the food was barely warm, ate in a hurry without exchanging a single word with anyone, and left to continue her work. In the evenings, she would lock herself up in the girls' dormitory, showing up in the common room only when she needed something. At one point, the witch was so busy that she was seriously considering skipping dinners. But when she asked Augusta and Rolanda to bring the food to her room, they both yelled at her and ordered to stop fooling around. Augusta even threatened to hide Minerva's books during one of her classes. This finally convinced the girl not to give up on her social life entirely. Or at least it seemed that way.

"Where the hell is she?" said Augusta irritably, having finished her dinner. She looked around the Great Hall, but her black-haired friend was nowhere to be seen.

"No idea," stated Rolanda, not bothering to swallow the food before opening her mouth. "You think she won't come, after all?"

But before the young witches had to decide whether or not to make Minerva a sandwich, the door to the Great Hall opened with a loud squeak. The girl in question quietly slid inside and headed hastily towards the Gryffindor table.

"Finally," said Augusta in an exasperated tone before Minerva had a chance to sit down.

"Sorry I'm late," the witch answered curtly, taking a seat opposite her friends. Next to an empty plate, she placed two heavy volumes, a quill, and a half-blank piece of parchment.

"What did you bring these books for?" interrogated Rolanda with a disapproving look.

"To finish my homework," Minerva replied matter-of-factly. "I need to write three essays by tomorrow, as I've already told you."

"I thought that's why you weren't at breakfast," said Augusta, starting to pity her friend. She herself wanted to get high marks, of course. But the price Minerva was paying was much too high.

In a mere month, this lively, cheerful girl had turned into a shadow of her former self. She wasn't playful or careless anymore. Her appearance had changed, as well. The ever-present dark circles around her bloodshot eyes were joined by reddish swellings. She rarely combed or tied her hair, although it already reached past her shoulders. Her school robes were creased, sometimes also dirty, either because she didn't want to waste her valuable time on fixing them, or because she simply didn't care.

"The description of Red Caps didn't go nearly as smoothly as I anticipated," explained Minerva, placing some potatoes on her plate.

"I hope you'll be done with everything by Friday." Rolanda put down her fork and knife. "We have plans for this weekend, remember?"

At this, Minerva lifted the tip of her quill from the parchment before shifting nervously in her chair.

"Oh, right," she said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice and wrote down another sentence. Having cleared her throat, she finally added, "Sorry, I can't go with you."

"What?" Augusta asked in disbelief, nearly choking on her pumpkin juice.

"What do you mean you can't go?" Rolanda nearly shouted in anger. "Don't tell me you need to study, because that's no excuse. And could you please stop writing while I'm talking to you?"

"It doesn't bother me," stated Minerva without looking up. She tried to remain calm, even though she was getting sick of similar comments. "Let me just remind you that this year I took twice as many subjects as did either of you. As a result, I may have less time than I used to. So, unless you want me to give up Quidditch or private lessons with Dumbledore, would you please get off me?!"

"Take it easy, Minerva!" said Rolanda in panic, withdrawing a little. She wasn't expecting that kind of reaction. "All I meant was you should have some fun once in a while, okay?"

"Minerva…" interrupted Augusta and, nodding towards the Gryffindor first years, she continued, "why is the Big Boy waving in our direction?"

Indeed, an eleven-year-old of the size of a well-built man was moving his huge palm above his head, apparently wanting to attract the girls' attention. Augusta watched in amazement as Minerva, having spotted him in the crowd, produced a soft smile and waved back.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us?" inquired Rolanda, unable to believe her own eyes.

"Meaning?" asked the black-haired witch, confused.

"Since when are you friends with the Big Boy?"

"Since I had an opportunity to talk to him," stated Minerva, in a meantime opening one of the books on a folded page.

She remembered the first time the two of them met. He was trying to join the first years' learning group, but was told off by most of its members. The kids' behaviour irritated Minerva, so she approached the boy, who was by the time sitting in the furthest corner of the common room, alone and miserable. She knew far too well what it felt like to be left off by one's own classmates to ignore him.

"And don't call him names," she added in a harsh voice. "It's quite rude, you know."

"Everyone's calling him that!" said Rolanda in self-defence.

"I'm not," remarked Minerva, giving Augusta and Rolanda a very serious look. The witches looked away uncomfortably, and then at each other, seeking for support. Minerva continued. "His name's Rubeus, but he prefers to be known by his last name. I don't know what people want from him, honestly. He's quite nice. Besides, he likes Hermes."

There was a short silence.

"Looks like someone's found herself a boyfriend," commented Augusta, elbowing Rolanda playfully with a smirk on her face.

"Yeah, right," replied Minerva, forking a piece of roasted beef. "Imagine, for the sake of our conversation, that I'm not dating every person of the opposite sex who likes my pet and whom I happened to have a proper conversation with. Oh, good evening, Professor!"

Rolanda and Augusta looked around to see their Transfiguration Professor standing mere feet behind them.

"Evening, Miss McGonagall," he answered politely, tipping his hat. "Miss Finch, Miss Hooch."

"Good evening," they replied together.

"May I?" asked the wizard, indicating an empty seat next to Augusta.

"Yes," uttered the girl, surprised by the question. She moved together with her chair towards Rolanda to make more space for their teacher.

Dumbledore sat down and beamed at the remaining students who just noticed his unexpected arrival. Then, he turned back to the three young ladies, whose cheeks looked a little bit rosier than usual.

"How do you enjoy being the Quidditch captain, Miss Hooch?" asked the professor, facing the fair-haired witch.

"It's alright, sir," she answered, feeling a bit awkward to be asked such a personal question. Having noticed an expectant look upon the Transfiguration Professor's face, she added, "I hope to find a good replacement for Cynthia. And win the cup this year, of course."

"I am sure you will succeed in both your undertakings. It would be nice to have the Quidditch cup back in my office," he commented, smiling encouragingly. Despite his open approach, Rolanda didn't seem to have anything more to say.

"Miss Finch," Professor Dumbledore addressed Augusta, "are you planning to join the team this year?"

"No, I don't think so, Professor," she answered truthfully. "I prefer to watch the game rather than play it myself."

The Deputy nodded with understanding. Augusta noticed him glance at Minerva, which was a clear indication that this was the very person their teacher truly wanted to have a word with. She had no intention to disturb them. Especially that, unlike Minerva, neither her nor Rolanda felt comfortable talking to their professor in a casual manner. She drank the entire glass of pumpkin juice in one gulp, stood up and grabbed Rolanda by the elbow.

"Sorry, sir, but we've got to get going," she said politely, getting Rolanda to her feet. "See you in the common room, Minerva."

"Sure, later," replied Minerva, raising her eyebrows slightly in surprise.

When the girls walked away, Albus decided it was high time to interrupt Minerva in her work.

"How can you focus in such a noisy place?" he asked, referring to her half-finished essay.

"It's not as hard as it seems," she informed her teacher, stopping in mid-sentence and putting the parchment aside. She joined her hands on he tabletop, focusing her full attention on the wizard sitting on the opposite side of the table.

"What were you writing about?"

"I was describing types of salamanders for the next Care of Magical Creatures."

"Oh yes," said the professor thoughtfully. "Professor Kettleburn is very fond of them. Speaking of school subjects, how do you enjoy your new classes?"

"Well…" Minerva dwelled on his question for a moment. "I really like Arithmancy. The Ancient Runes are also quite interesting. But…" she made a short pause, considering whether or not to voice her latest reflections. Finally, however, she looked the wizard straight into the eyes and added in an undertone, "I'm thinking about dropping Divination."

"Why?" inquired Albus, leaning forward with interest. "Did something happen?"

The teacher watched Minerva with anxiety, as she took a deep breath before opening her mouth.

"I've never seen a more vague or inaccurate branch of magic in my entire life!" she said with passion, stressing every single word.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled aloud, failing to hide his amusement from Minerva. Yes, this was just the kind of reasoning he would expect of this girl. Truth be told, Albus never liked divination, either. Mainly because he believed there to be no real fortunes to tell. As a highly skilled legilimens, he could predict people's behaviour much more accurately than any fortune-teller he's had a misfortune to meet. What's more important, most of the time he could accomplish it the Muggle way. Looking into a person's mind without his or her consent was regarded by him as a huge affront.

"It can be easily arranged," he said finally, referring to his student's decision. "The Headmaster should not have any objections, as you're taking any other subject the school has to offer."

The young witch seemed a bit happier, although it was hard to tell for sure due to her recent changes in appearance.

"Having so many classes, you must have made many new friends, I suppose?"

Minerva's brows furrowed noticeably when she looked away.

"Not really," she admitted in a hushed voice, all of a sudden finding an empty soup vase exceptionally interesting. "I don't have time to hang around much. Besides, I'm having troubles remembering all these names and faces, and people usually don't like that."

Which probably makes you feel even more lonely than before, thought Albus, but said nothing. This answer saddened him, because he was under the impression that Minerva's social skills had improved since her first days at Hogwarts. She wasn't anymore the lost, scared little girl he'd once caught outside the common room. After hours. Talking to a portrait. It seemed that the young witch had found herself two trusted friends, and also a few current or former team mates, whom she shared at least one passion with.

However, so unlike many other kids her age, Minerva valued her education above anything else. Which included hanging out with her peers, going to parties, or simply having fun. Had the situation been different, Dumbledore would have strongly advised her to modify such an imprudent demeanour. But Albus knew his student well enough to tell that this way of living was Minerva's desperate attempt to cut herself away from the world. The world where families were broken, the loved ones were endangering their lives for the greater good, hundreds of people were dying left and right, and underage wizards felt more helpless than ever before. Truth be told, he couldn't blame her for that.

Having dropped his gaze down from the girl's face, he noticed that she was cutting up a slice of meat into smaller pieces. But, apparently, not planning to eat it.

"If the meat is not to your liking, I'm certain there are other dishes left," he stated, trying to find a more cheerful topic for discussion.

"No, it's alright," she replied awkwardly, surprised that the teacher took notice of her actions. "I wanted to pack this and take with me."

"Maybe I should take something for Fawkes, as well?" said the wizard, looking behind himself, thoughtful.

"Is anyone going to eat that, what do you reckon?" the Transfiguration Professor indicated a few pieces of chocolate cake left on the Hufflepuff table. "Come on, let's grab a few."

"Afraid to do it on your own, sir?" asked the girl, grinning at him.

When the Deputy didn't answer immediately, Minerva felt her heart rate rise from uneasiness. The next words he spoke made her even more anxious.

"You're forgetting yourself, Miss McGonagall."

She had no idea what on earth made her blab something that stupid. She obviously meant no offence, even though the words had escaped her mouth before she had a chance to ponder over their level of appropriateness. Dumbledore didn't make a strict face, but he didn't have to in order to make Minerva wonder. Had she finally stepped over the line?

But when the professor beamed at her, widely and sincerely, Minerva knew she'd been forgiven for her rash words.

"I'm a Gryffindor, not a coward," Albus stated with pride.

And then he winked. To make himself sound less serious, or perhaps to relax the suddenly loaded atmosphere. Minerva laughed nervously, but hurried after him nevertheless.

Encouraged by the fact that nobody seemed to pay them much attention, Minerva and Professor Dumbledore came back with two plates of sweets collected from over the Great Hall.

"Perhaps we could bring the dessert to each of our Animagi lessons," suggested the Deputy, helping himself to a cocoa-flavoured biscuit. He pushed the dish towards his student, so that she would take one, as well.

"Didn't you hear, Professor, that you shouldn't feed chocolate to animals?" she said with an innocent look on her face, trying to re-establish the boundaries behind which the Transfiguration Professor wouldn't allow her to go.

Albus grinned at her choice of words. Minerva had no way of knowing that, but the people he usually met presumed that he, Albus Dumbledore, a famous partner of an even more famous Nicolas Flamel, a Transfiguration genius and mister know-it-all, had little to no sense of humour. Wherever he went, everyone tended to treat him deadly serious and no more than smirked politely whenever he attempted to tell a joke. It was a nice and very pleasant change to be made fun of and be allowed to make fun of someone in exchange. Especially in those hard and trying times, when he had to strive for things to smile about.

"Of course, you're right," he agreed, reaching for another cookie. "I should be strictly forbidden to offer you any treats once you transform."

Which won't be anytime soon, he thought, but decided against sharing this piece of knowledge with his student. Glancing at Minerva's unfinished essay, he suggested,

"Maybe we should reschedule our meeting? I couldn't help but notice that you have some other prior commitments."

The girl followed her teacher's gaze. True, she had a lot of work to do, but not nearly enough to keep her from practicing the Patronus charm. They had already wasted two weeks for Minerva to get accustomed to her new schedule. Waiting for another week was not an option.

"No, thank you, sir," she said, shaking her head, worried that the Transfiguration Professor might actually cancel their appointment. "I'm fine."

"I can fully understand your desire to acquire as much knowledge as possible, Minerva," he stated, joining the tips of his fingers, "but I wouldn't want you to fail a compulsory subject because of extracurricular activities."

He stopped, having received a very nasty look. His pupil glared at him with these adamant eyes of hers, as if he was an old Hippogriff's pellet. Trying to sound casual, she said,

"If you don't want to see me today, Professor, why don't you just say so?"

Albus straightened up in his chair, taken aback. This wasn't what he meant and he decided to make that perfectly clear.

"I find it hard to express to what extent I value your company, my dear. Although, as your teacher and Head of House, I am obliged to remind you about your responsibilities as a Hogwarts student."

The witch's green eyes brightened with excitement, as they did every time a new idea crossed her mind.

"If you allowed me to hand in my essay a day later, I would be free this evening."

Dumbledore considered her proposition for a moment.

"Certainly, you could bring it a day later," he said calmly. "Remember, however, that this is a special permission and you should not take it for granted."

Minerva nodded, a clear indication she understood the message.

"Thank you, sir!"

Albus got to his feet, taking the plate of sweets with him.

"Let's go, then. We are already late."


	10. "Have it your way"

Minerva was furious. With herself, with her friends and the situation they put her in. Finally, with the whole terrible day that was going from bad to worse. She still couldn't believe what had just happened. She never would have thought they could do anything like that to her, either of them. Ever.

This was her first time in Hogsmeade, the only all-wizarding village in Britain, which happened to be situated in a walking distance from Hogwarts. Every third-year who obtained a signed permission from their guardian was allowed to go there once every two months. Minerva, Rolanda and Augusta were planning their trip for days. They chose one place each and agreed to visit them one by one, together.

First of all, Rolanda wanted to go to Spintwitches Sporting Needs, a sports shop which specialized in selling Quidditch equipment. There was every sport-related thing one could think of. From the newest Cleansweep Three and Comet 180, to the latest issue of Seeker Monthly magazine. Minerva expected to be thrilled by the variety of cleaning kits, guidebooks and tuning parts the store had to offer. But instead, she felt bitterly disappointed. With such a low amount of savings, she couldn't afford to buy anything she liked. Rolanda didn't make things any easier by persuading Minerva to purchase whatever it took to help Gryffindor win the upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

Next, the witches walked into Gladrag Wizardwear, a clothing shop owned by two most talkative sisters. Whereas it took Minerva a few glances to be ready to leave, Augusta spent nearly an hour in the fitting room. She and Rolanda tried on almost half of the dressing robes and accessories that were currently in stock. Only because the remaining part was meant for wizards only. Not being much of a fashion freak herself, Minerva was seriously considering waiting for them outside. When at last her friends so much as indicated they're not going to buy anything after all, Minerva didn't give them an opportunity to rethink their decision.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, having practically run out from the clothing store.

"I wish they had this yellow robe in a slightly different cut," complained Rolanda, who was very reluctant to leave the shop.

"I really need a pair of shoes to go with my new dress," announced Augusta, who didn't seem to have heard her. "Oh well, maybe I'll find one in Diagon Alley. Come on, we've got to look for the hairdresser. It's good that we still have some time to get there."

"No, we don't," interrupted Minerva, slightly alarmed. "Now we are supposed to go for a drink, aren't we?"

"Sorry, Minerva," said Augusta, throwing an awkward glance at Rolanda, "but we have an appointment."

Minerva stopped in her tracks.

"You made an appointment like what, a week ago, and decided now is the best time to tell me?" 

"But you're welcome to join us," added Rolanda in an attempt to ease the tension. "I mean, if you wish to."

Of course she didn't.

With hands in her pockets and the glare of a basilisk, she walked alone down the main street of Hogsmeade. Her facial expression could scare off a group of gnomes, or even force a rampaging centaur to stop and rethink his behaviour. After a few minutes of blindly moving forward, she found herself near the outskirts of the village. Her hands were icy cold, but she couldn't care less. She had no intention of sitting in the Three Broomsticks all by herself. Going back to Hogwarts wasn't an option, either. All the students were supposed to gather at the square and return to the castle with their respective Head of House. If Minerva didn't show up, she would be in serious trouble.

She sighed heavily, causing a small cloud of steam to appear. She wanted to get as much away from the girls as possible, but not getting herself lost was still her priority. Walking in an unfamiliar place alone is quite different from walking in a group. Minerva turned back and, for lack of better options, headed to the meeting place.

When she finally got there, in the middle of the village square she noticed a huge statue made of stone. It depicted Hengist of Woodcroft, a very generous, powerful and influential wizard, who also happened to be the founder of Hogsmeade. At least, that's what the inscription read. Unsurprisingly, no students were waiting for the return trip at such an early hour. 

Resigned, Minerva sat down on a nearby bench. She thought about poor Hermes, whom she promised to take for a short flight right after she got back. And about all the work awaiting her in the castle. She hoped for a long night's sleep tonight. Yet there she was, wasting her valuable time instead of doing something productive. She could have at least brought a piece of parchment.

"I am not late, am I?" she heard a familiar voice.

Wearing a long grey travelling cloak and his inseparable pointed hat, there stood a tall, thin figure of her Transfiguration Professor. Today was the first time Minerva had an opportunity to see the wizard in anything else than his teaching robes. She couldn't get used to this unusual view.

"Hello, Professor," the girl greeted him, a note of surprise present in her voice. Her face brightened up momentarily. Despite being in a particularly bad mood, she was actually happy to see him.

"Are you enjoying your first weekend in Hogsmeade?" asked Albus, taking a seat beside her.

Minerva had no idea how to answer.

"Yes, I think so," she said at last, trying to warm up her reddened hands.

"Why aren't you with Miss Hooch and Miss Finch?" the wizard inquired, giving his student a piercing look. "I am almost certain I saw them enter the Hairdressing salon."

The young witch suddenly remembered how angry she was mere moments ago.

"It wasn't my intention to be here on my own. It's not my fault my plans have changed."

Albus said nothing. Minerva was evidently upset. It must have had something to do with her friends. They probably had some an argument of some sort and decided to go their separate ways. He was curious whatever could have happened between them, but if Minerva didn't volunteer to tell him, he wasn't going to press her.

"I am sure this is all one big misunderstanding and you will figure things out a bit later," said Professor Dumbledore in attempt to cheer Minerva up. Her sceptical half-smile and reluctance to maintain eye contact told him that he failed. He bit his lip. It was probably most advisable to let the girl think everything through by herself. Slowly, he stood up.

"Now, if you would excuse me, there is somewhere I need to go."

The wizard turned away and attempted to leave when he heard Minerva's hopeful voice saying,

"Can I come with you?"

Albus looked at the girl, startled. She didn't even know where he was headed. Why would she want to join him?

"I am not up to anything exciting, I'm afraid. All I intend to do is pay a short visit to a local barman," he informed her, trying to make sure the young witch knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

Her face fell momentarily. Out of a few dozen of places to pick from, the professor just had to choose the Three Broomsticks. The last place she wanted to find herself in. But then, freezing alone on an empty square didn't sound like fun, either. She made up her mind.

"I don't mind," stated Minerva. She was rather determined to make him agree, not sure how she would take another rejection. "So, what do you say, Professor?"

Albus considered his student's request for a moment. It's not everyday someone asked to accompany him. Maybe this was not such a bad idea, after all? In fact, Minerva's presence could prove most beneficial. It didn't mean, of course, that his sole purpose would be to use the poor girl for his own case. After all, he truly valued her company.

"If you also do not mind listening to a rather dull conversation, then yes, you may come, Minerva," he said with a mild smile.

Professor Dumbledore knew his way around. He was rarely following the main road, turning into narrow streets instead, taking shortcuts. Minerva had trouble keeping up with him. They walked together without exchanging another word. She wanted say something, but felt guilty for being unkind to the professor. Before she mustered enough courage to speak, he broke the silence.

"There it is," Albus pointed at the building near the end of the road. The sign that read "Hog's Head" was dangling above the entrance.

Minerva came in first, holding the door open, so that it wouldn't shut in Professor Dumbledore's face. This was certainly not the place she assumed they were heading to. Whether it was for better of worse, she couldn't tell. The first thing that drew her attention was a rather heavy scent of goats. To her, it seemed out of place, as she expected to find references to a different kind of animal. Even though it was a bright autumn day outside, the interior of the tavern was shrouded in semi-darkness. The young witch had to blink several times before her eyes adapted to the low intensity of the candle light. The room, which seemed almost empty at first glance, was actually full of strange hooded figures hiding in dark corners. Only several tables were occupied by customers who didn't bother to hide their faces. Minerva didn't feel like getting near any of them, so she stayed close to her Head of House.

She looked in the direction of the bar. Behind the dusty counter, a barman was putting all of his efforts into cleaning a very dirty glass with an even dirtier piece of rag. His thin profile told Minerva he was quite young. He had short dark hair, a little stable on his cheeks and bright blue eyes. He also looked strangely familiar, although she was pretty sure they hadn't met before.

"Come back later, Albus. Can't you see I'm busy?" said the barman without looking up.

"Evening, Aberforth," replied Albus, approaching the bar. "There is no need to get angry, we won't bother you much."

"Who's we?" asked Aberforth with sudden interest.

"Minerva, meet my brother, Aberforth," Professor Dumbledore told his student. Turning back to the barman, he added, "Aberforth, this is my student, Minerva McGonagall."

"Nice to meet you, missy," stated Aberforth, shaking Minerva's hand. "Want something to drink?"

Albus could tell the young witch wasn't prepared for such an unexpected turn of events. With an uncertain voice, she replied,

"I would like a butterbeer, please."

Aberforth left without giving his brother a second glance. He came back with three small brown bottles. Pouring Minerva's drink into a mug, he asked,

"One of my brother's students, aren't you? He taught you anything useful?"

"Yes, sir," she answered politely, glancing over at her teacher. "I'm learning many new things."

"Don't be so modest, Minerva," said Albus, producing an encouraging smile. "She is already half through the fifth year's material."

The younger Dumbledore nodded slowly with an intent look on his face. Albus knew that Aberforth was holding back, waiting for Minerva to leave before telling his brother what he really thought of his unannounced visit. The Deputy Headmaster needed to act fast if he wanted to put his brother in a good mood. He couldn't afford the wizard to turn down his request.

"Professor Dumbledore is also teaching me to become an Animagus." announced Minerva, apparently feeling a bit more confident after hearing the professor's praise.

Aberforth's eyes widened, his grip on the bottle tightened. The glass threatened to brake, as the wizard slammed it against the wooden top.

"Are you insane?!" Aberforth raised his voice, glaring at Albus. His sudden outburst drew attention of the nearby customers. "Teaching human transfiguration to a kid her age? You want her dead before she gets her Apparition license?"

Instinctively, Albus assumed a defensive position. He knew much too well that, for the time being, he would not be able to talk any reason into his brother. He just wished he could foresee Aberforth's abrupt reaction. Then, he would have warned Minerva instead of encouraging her to talk.

"Calm down, Aberforth."

"Hell if I calm down!" the barman retorted. "Not until I make sure you're not forcing this lass to risk her life when fulfilling your stupid dreams."

"I wasn't forced to do anything," mumbled Minerva. She was afraid to speak up, but couldn't simply sit and watch her teacher taking all the blame.

"Pardon me?"

"It was my idea. I asked your brother to teach me. You should yell at me instead."

Aberforth seemed lost of words.

"W-what did you… Your idea? How? A child your age, you shouldn't even be aware of the existence of Animagi."

Minerva gave it some thought.

"I've read about them in a book," she finally admitted.

"You've read about them-," the barman stopped in mid-sentence. He walked angrily behind the bar, muttering something under his breath. He picked up a bottle of Firewhisky, made another step and put it back on another shelf. His back was turned, so it was hard to read his facial expression. Fortunately, he seemed to be calming down. With a much calmer voice, he said,

"I don't believe you persuaded my big brother to do anything for you. You must be something special."

The wizard brought himself another bottle of butterbeer and drank it in silence. Minerva was relieved that he decided against scolding her. Still, she wasn't eager to discuss the topic any further. Seizing the opportunity, Albus changed the subject.

"So, how is the business going?"

"Not as good as it used to," Aberforth admitted reluctantly, taking a huge gulp. "It must be the war's doing, I'd bet my wand on it. Ever since those damn Aurors started showing up every now and then, I was having trouble getting back my long-time customers. You interested in politics, missy?"

Minerva licked her lips from the foam.

"I read the Prophet every day," she replied quietly. Aberforth's disbelieving look made her provide a further explanation. "Both of my parents are at the front."

"Oh," he uttered, dropping his gaze. "Sorry to hear that."

"Is your family taking part in the war, as well?" the young witch asked both Dumbledores.

"No," said Aberforth curtly. He gave Albus a piercing glare. It apparently ran in the family. "My family is not taking part in the war."

Minerva looked puzzled, glancing from one wizard to another. What was Professor Dumbledore to blame for? Had he forbidden Aberforth to get involved, and the latter wizard was now angry with his brother? Or maybe there was something else she was missing? With so many questions and so little clues, Minerva couldn't hope to find the answers by herself.

She finished her drink in a single gulp.

"Excuse me, but I need to use the bathroom," she said, getting up to her feet.

"Second door on the left." The barman gestured towards the back of the pub.

"Thank you," the girl replied, as she headed in the given direction. "I'll be right back."

As soon as she was out of sight, Albus leaned forward.

"Look, Aberforth, I have a favour to ask of you," he whispered, looking his brother straight in the eyes. "I know that Jacob Dawlish and his newly formed Hit Squad will be passing through Hogsmeade in the next two weeks. I need you to contact me with him."

By the looks of it, Albus managed to surprise Aberforth, who frowned at him, withdrawing a little.

"What do you need that for?" asked the barman sharply.

Albus made a sad smile. His unfocused gaze rested on the empty bottles.

"I need to keep in touch with our people in the Continental Europe," he stated solemnly, not giving away too many details.

"Need to? Why?" said the younger wizard with emphasis.

The professor sighed involuntarily, but began to talk.

"Because the Ministry is keeping secrets from us. The Daily Prophet keeps its mouth shut about most recent events, and the Ministry officials are forbade to speak aloud about certain things. I still believe I can be of some use to our side, whatever your thoughts are. Yet, to be able to help, I have to know about everything that is currently happening at both fronts, and I need somebody trusted to try and force my ideas to the higher-ups."

"And what exactly do you want them to know?"

"I could not tell you, even if we were alone. I'm sorry. The question is, will you help me or not?"

"Alright," Aberforth uttered with irritation. "Have it your way."

He took another sip of butterbeer and added,

"I agree to help you, but you'll owe me a big one, dear brother."

Albus nodded in a sign of acknowledgement. He wasn't given a chance to argue, as Minerva was already approaching them.

"Thank you, and forgive me for taking your precious time" said the professor, putting his long travelling cloak back on.

Aberforth's blood boiled in his veins. He could never tell whether his brother was making fun of him or being deadly serious.

Minerva reached for her wallet, but Professor Dumbledore beat her to it. He put ten sickles on the bar top.

"Keep the change."

Although she couldn't find a way to show it, the girl truly appreciated this small gesture. No one, besides family members, had ever paid for her. She was planning to return the favour at the earliest opportunity.

"Goodbye, Mr. Dumbledore. It was a pleasure to meet you," she said before disappearing behind the entrance door.

"Take care, missy," replied Aberforth, getting back to the filthy glasses.


	11. Taking so long

Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily. He ran his cold hand over his face and squeezed the corners of his tired eyes.

It took him almost a week to catch up with all the work Armando Dippet had left him. The Headmaster was forced to take a leave of absence due to his recent health problems. It was Albus's duty, as the Deputy Headmaster, to take over all of his boss's responsibilities. Which wouldn't be half as bad, he bitterly noticed, had Armando informed him sooner of the huge pile of papers that was slowly building up on his shelf. Some of the documents were supposed to get signed and sent over a month ago. Working over hours in any free period of time he had left, Professor Dumbledore had finally managed to get the overdue job done. Now that the most urgent matters had already been dealt with, the Deputy could finally focus on more prosaic things. Like reading the mail.

A huge pile of unopened envelopes was waiting for him, lying peacefully on the far side of a mahogany desk. The Transfiguration Professor took the first one from the top, tore it on the side, and read its content. His brows frowned with impatience. 

Another uneducated fool undermining Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration! Albus sighed again, this time even louder. He appreciated that there were still some people who didn't believe in everything they saw without question. Yet, in his opinion, one should receive at least a basic professional education before attempting to rewrite Gamp. The professor couldn't remember one person who did, though. Still, every time he received this kind of correspondence, he was doing his best to put together a kind reply. After so many years, he was running out of ideas.

Before the wizard wrote the first paragraph, he heard a loud knock on the door. It was followed by a squeak of the hinges, but no footsteps. Which meant that whoever was trying to disturb him, didn't come in. When Dumbledore glanced at the entrance to his office, he saw one of his students standing at the threshold, holding to a door frame with one hand, and tilting inside.

"Hello, Professor," the girl greeted him. She looked around, apparently to check whether her teacher was alone. After a short pause, she added, "May I come in?"

Albus finished another sentence, afraid he might forget the perfectly worded response he'd been working on for several minutes. The attitude of his guest made the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.

"Yes, you may, Minerva," said the Transfiguration Professor, waving his hand to make some room on the opposing chair. "Please, wait for a moment. I need to finish this."

The girl obediently took her usual seat. She watched carefully as Dumbledore wrote the final words and put his signature in the bottom corner.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon," said the professor, inserting a folded piece of parchment into a pre-addressed envelope.

"I didn't feel like staying in the Gryffindor Tower," bitterly admitted Minerva. Her posture, Albus noticed, expressed irritation and dejection. She was sitting low in the chair, with her arms crossed, and didn't look at her Head of House when either of them spoke.

"Rolanda took her first loss hard, I presume?"

The girl gave a loud snort, still not meeting her professor's questioning gaze.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Although it would be an understatement, thought Minerva. Almost like saying that Manticores don't make the best pets. Rolanda started yelling at everyone before the team even left the Quidditch pitch. And continued all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower. Minerva wasn't safe, neither in the common room, nor inside her own quarters. In a desperate attempt to free herself from Rolanda's company, the young witch pretended to be late for her meeting with Dumbledore. Even now, she would much rather sit and watch him answer all the letters than have a serious talk with her friend.

Having sensed that his student had no intention to dwell on the subject, Albus returned to his neglected correspondence. Minerva didn't want to distract him. With nothing better to do, she looked around her teacher's office. Over the last two years, she became familiar with this room more than any other - maybe except the dormitory. Still, she had no idea how most of these things worked or what purpose they served. A collection of silvery pots, metal objects appearing to be something between puzzles and Egyptian pyramids, or a colourful globe with numerous Saturn-like rings couldn't be there solely for decorative purposes. For a short time, the young witch pondered on the appropriateness of storing all those precious things in the room often visited by students. They could break something, after all.

Minerva's eyes landed back on the professor. It didn't escape her notice that, instead of getting ready to leave, he was busy with another letter. Raising her eyebrows in a meaningful way, she asked,

"Maybe I should come back in an hour? You have a lot of work, and I don't want to disturb."

Professor Dumbledore seemed startled, as though he'd forgotten for a moment that he had company. He took his eyes off the letter with difficulty.

"No, you shouldn't," he replied slowly, putting it back on the desktop. "There is nothing else in here that requires my immediate attention."

Without another word, he went out to the corridor and Minerva followed.

When they entered the dusty classroom on the second floor, Albus took his usual pose. He sat on the edge of the teacher's desk, his arms folded, and legs stretched out in front of him. It might seem that the wizard was fully relaxed and couldn't care less. But this was just an appearance, the young witch knew that from experience. Whenever there was something slightly wrong, he reacted in an instant.

"Alright," stated Dumbledore, seeing Minerva draw her wand, ready to cast on command. "Show me what you've got."

The young Gryffindor took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a split second to fully visualise her happy memory. The moment she reopened them, she shouted,

"Expecto Patronum!"

A bright beam of silvery light erupted from the tip of her wand. It looked as if a miniature star simply materialized in front of her. But then, it began to change. The initially shapeless form slowly grew in size and complexity. Just before the Transfiguration Professor was able to recognize its shape, it had vanished.

"Minerva? What is it?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

His face was no more than few inches away, yet Minerva heard him as though he was standing on the other side of a thick glass wall. His voice was tense. She didn't remember why he was standing right next to her, or how he got there in the first place. The teacher put his hand on the girl's elbow in order to support her. He felt that her legs were giving in to her weight. Not asking any more questions, Albus walked his student to the nearest bench and forced her to sit down. She didn't resist.

After a moment or two, the girl looked up at the professor, evidently confused.

"Better?" he asked, attempting to produce a smile.

"Better," repeated Minerva mechanically. "What happened?"

"You nearly succeeded in producing the Patronus," the Transfiguration Professor informed her. "Then you turned white and looked as if you were about to faint. Casting the spell must have exhausted you."

"What?" the girl's face changed from disoriented to disappointed. " But why? The previous week everything was fine!"

Professor Dumbledore's smirk was hard to miss. Especially with the addition of his icy piercing gaze.

"Have you even visited the Hospital Wing after the match was over?" he asked expectantly. The tone of his voice told Minerva that he already knew the answer.

"No," the girl sighed out, looking at her shaky hands. "Why would I?" she remarked. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Nothing, except that you are underperforming during classes," Dumbledore noted, pulling something out of his pocket. "Take this," he said, handing Minerva a cup of hot tea that appeared out of nowhere. 

"Wait," she ordered, summoning her bag with a flick of the wand. "I've brought something."

The girl took out a pair of boxed Chocolate Wands, a birthday present from Malcolm, and placed it on the bench.

"This is for you, sir."

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh my, I haven't seen these in ages," he replied, lifting one up to have a better look. "Let me take… the oaken wand with a unicorn hair," the wizard read from the cardboard box before unwrapping the chocolate and breaking in into smaller pieces.

Minerva's eyes moved from Professor Dumbledore's face to the sweets and back again. She was apparently taken aback.

"They're both for you," she explained, her voice a little uncertain.

"Well, thank you, Minerva, but do let me share with you," said the teacher kindly, pushing the other wand back to his student. "It won't taste near as good if I'm forced to eat it alone."

Having run out of excuses, the young witch reached for the sweet. She ripped the package, the took a bite, and froze before chewing.

Two weeks ago, Minerva remembered, she was studying in the Gryffindor common room, together with Augusta and Rolanda. Malcolm's owl had delivered her birthday gift this morning, so she brought the sweets along to share with her friends.

"No, thanks, I'm on a diet," said her friends when Minerva offered them some. Shrugging her shoulders, the girl kept everything to herself. She was reading a book on antidotes, not paying attention to any of her surroundings, until Augusta elbowed her painfully in the ribs.

"What?" Minerva asked distractedly, not bothering to look up.

"Stop eating this… thing," whispered Augusta through gritted teeth.

"Listen," said Minerva in irritation, marking the line she was on with her finger. "I told you I don't mind you guys starving yourselves, I really don't. Do what you want. But leave me out of this! This is my birthday. And I like sweets."

"What are you talking about?" uttered Augusta, and it seemed that she had truly no idea. "Haven't you noticed? Half of the boys are making fun of you!"

"Me?" Minerva looked around, not even trying to be discrete. "Why? What did I do?"

Noticing Augusta's hesitance, Rolanda joined the discussion.

"Just… don't eat these in public, okay?" 

Having this conversation in mind, Minerva felt suddenly embarrassed and highly uncomfortable. Even though her teacher did nothing to make her feel that way. The witch broke off another part of the chocolate. She put it in her mouth and somehow swallowed everything without choking. She drank the tea all at once.

"Everything alright?" asked Albus with care, witnessing Minerva's odd behaviour. She nodded, rubbing her watery eyes.

"You need to forget about today's game, Minerva," the Transfiguration Professor continued after a short while. "If you truly want to progress. Forget about me, this class, everything that is not a part of your happiest memory. It is not knowledge, skills, or practice that you're lacking. It's focus."

"Right," the girl replied, getting ready to resume the lesson. Professor Dumbledore stopped her with a single gesture.

"Give yourself ten more minutes, will you? I've had enough stressful situations for one day."

Ten minutes later, Minerva was once again standing in the middle of the classroom. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and did her best to empty her mind.

"Expecto Patronum!" she shouted, aiming straight-ahead.

This Patronus didn't look nearly as magnificent as the previous one. The young witch killed it with a single wand movement. She repeated the preparation process before casting another spell. A few more tries and there it was - a true corporeal Patronus!

Minerva was so excited. She still couldn't believe she finally did it.

"What is it?" asked the girl, her eyes transfixed on the misty bluish creature.

"I would say," replied Professor Dumbledore, crouching to pet the air over its little head, "it is a cat."

"A cat?" repeated Minerva. Her face sank. She was looking thoroughly disappointed.

"What, don't you like cats?" inquired Albus, lifting his brow a little.

"No, it's not that," the witch started to explain, lowering her wand. The Patronus disappeared. "I just wished I could turn into something big and powerful. You know, with claws, fangs, and everything."

"Cats do have claws and fangs, you know," he told her.

In response, she looked at him, as if he couldn't have said anything more inappropriate. The wizard ignored it. He got to his feet and folded his arms.

"Look," said the Transfiguration Professor, meeting his student's eyes. "You shouldn't measure anyone's power by their looks. The ability to conceal oneself, to move around inaudibly, by stealth, and attack from unawares may sometimes give you more advantage than pure strength and brutality."

Minerva wasn't convinced, but she surely was having second thoughts about her new guardian. The girl took out the nearest chair and sat on it. From excitement, she didn't notice how tired she was.

"I think this is it for today," stated Dumbledore in response to the young witch's repetitive yawns. "I want you to know that you did a splendid job. I am very proud of you."

Apparently, Minerva had a different opinion.

"I don't know, sir. Everything seems so simple now. I should have been able to cast Patronusses before the end of the summer term. I wish I did, I could have known so much more by now."

"Minerva?" interrupted Albus.

"Yes?"

"A simple thank you would suffice."

The girl's cheeks turned brick red.

"Well, then… thank you," she said awkwardly, not used to being praised. She needed to change the subject.

"Sir?" added Minerva after a moment of silence. "Could you give me the titles of my next read?"

The professor looked back at her, astonished. She surely didn't like taking any breaks.

"I don't reckon the titles themselves will help you much. You won't find them in the library. But don't worry," he reassured her, noticing her lips slightly part in disappointment. "I'll lend you the books from my private collection," 

"Could I walk you to your office and borrow them, then?" The teacher didn't respond, so Minerva added, "Please?"

Dumbledore sighed out loud. But he agreed either way.

Back in his office, the Transfiguration Professor walked slowly to one of the bookcases. From the top shelf he took off two thick, heavy volumes.

"In this book you'll find many useful hints concerning wandless magic. It might come in handy when you'll be learning how to transform yourself. This one, however, will explain to you the basics of Human Transfiguration. I would advise you to check it first," he explained to Minerva. She put the books on the bottom of her bag with care. "There is one more I'd like you to study, though. Where did I put it…?"

He looked around, scanning the titles. Minerva observed him from a step behind. She wondered why her teacher was in possession of rare academy textbooks on Animagi. He was not an Animagus, she was sure of that. His name didn't figure in the register. She was about to ask him when they both heard Henerick.

"Albus, someone is trying to reach you on your private line. He says you knew he would call."

The professor turned around and combed his fingers through his auburn hair.

"Yes. Right, I forgot. Would you excuse me for a few minutes, Minerva?"

"Yeah, sure," the girl said under his expectant look. "Go on, Professor."

She watched Dumbledore disappear into his private chambers. Having sat back in her chair, she stretched out her legs to let them rest. After the entire day of physical activities, Minerva didn't feel like standing without a particular reason. Looking blindly ahead, she wondered whether to let her eyelids close for a little while. As falling asleep during her professor's absence wouldn't be very polite, she decided against it.

The girl blinked several times to keep herself awake. After her sight focused, she realized that, for some time now, she was looking straight at Professor Dumbledore's letter. The one he was answering before they left his office a few hours ago. In the flow of words, Minerva noticed one that looked suspiciously like Grindelwald. She was nearly as surprised as she was excited. None of the teachers had ever talked with her about the situation in Europe. Dumbledore included. Yet, she had so many questions that were left unanswered. So many hopes and fears that couldn't be addressed. She was thrilled to know what was happening on the continent, whatever wasn't in the newspapers.

This was probably why she walked around the desk to read the words that weren't meant for her. Nervously checking the door every now and then, she began from the line above the word that riveted her attention.

 

"… your last letter. I find it hard to believe that a wizard like yourself could ever be friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I am certain you had your reasons. However justified might be your decision…"

 

What she read, shocked her. Dumbledore friends with Grindelwald?!

Before she had a chance to finish the sentence, Minerva caught the glimpse of the door to the professor's quarters being open. She jumped up, nearly dropping the bag she was holding. The girl composed herself rather quickly, pretending to be walking around the office for the whole time.

"Forgive me for taking so long," kindly apologized Albus, approaching the desk. Minerva's heart skipped a beat. She was thinking hard, whether she touched anything or left any signs at all. To her relief, the professor simply picked up a thick, hard-covered volume. 

"There you go," he said, handing her A Comparative Anatomy of Verberates. Usually, she would express her astonishment at being given a Muggle book. This was not the time, though. "These should be enough for now. Please, try to return them in nearly the same condition."

"Oh, right. Thank you, sir," said Minerva, still a little distracted. "I think I'll be going."

Dumbledore's brows went up. He was surprised by the sudden change in his student's behaviour. Minutes ago, she was reluctant to leave, and now it looked like she was running away from him. Don't be ridiculous, he thought to himself. She was probably exhausted.

"Of course." He smiled at her. "I hope to see you soon."

Minerva nodded. She hurried to the exit. But the moment the young witch put her hand on the knob, she hesitated.

She needed answers.

Was Dumbledore really so close to Grindelwald? How did they meet? Were they still friends or had they roads parted? Who else knew about it? The girl knew that if she didn't bring up the subject now, she might never have an opportunity to do so. But how do you ask someone if they're friends with the most powerful dark wizard, Muggle-hater, and a mass murderer?

She kept on walking.


	12. Change anything

Minerva hit the ball so hard she could barely see where it went.

She should probably be more careful. If she lost one of the Bludgers, she would have a hard time explaining herself to Madam Jacobs. Without admitting what she was doing with it, that is. While there was nothing shameful in relieving stress, Minerva would rather avoid any additional questions. About the reason she stayed behind on the Quidditch pitch shortly before curfew, for example. Or about the thing that upset her in the first place.

The Bludger was coming back, hurrying straight at her. The young witch took a swipe, putting all that was left of her strength into this final blow. She had no control over the direction in which the ball travelled, but it didn't concern her. There was at least one goal that she managed to accomplish today. She felt marginally better. Although tomorrow's inevitable muscle soreness might change her opinion on using the Bludgers as a form of psychotherapy.

"If you wanted to become a Beater, you should've just said so."

Minerva was so startled she nearly dropped her bat. She turned around, looking for the source of the voice. She let out a breath. It was just Rolanda.

"I've told you I'll take the equipment back to the broom shed," Minerva said more sharply than intended, wiping sweat from her forehead. She looked back at the darkening sky. The Bludger was making a turn.

"One of these days, eh?" blurted out Rolanda with a knowing smirk.

"What?" the dark-haired witch asked distractedly, taken by surprise. Needlessly, as she heard her friend perfectly well. She seized the Bludger with both hands and forced it back into the case. "No, I don't think so."

"What is it, then?" Rolanda gave her friend a questioning look. Minerva rolled her eyes, wishing she replied in the affirmative to the previous question.

The truth was, ever since reading the letter on Professor Dumbledore's desk, the young witch had not been herself. She still didn't remember how she got back to her room after leaving her teacher's office. When she woke up the next morning, she hoped beyond hope that the events of the previous day were just a bad dream. That she was wrong. Mistaken. Simply seeing something that wasn't really there. Imagining the whole thing.

The girl nearly made herself believe all this. She dressed in a hurry before leaving the dormitory for a late breakfast. Paying no attention to where she was going, Minerva accidentally bumped into a group of Hogwarts faculty. 

"Oh, watch out, Miss!" said Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, helping Minerva not to drop her books.

"I'm sorry," the young witch replied distractedly, looking up at Professor Kettleburn's polite expression. She nodded her apologies to the other professors: Merrythought, Beery, and…

"You need to be more careful, Minerva," noted Professor Dumbledore, putting a hand on his student's shoulder.

Minerva's heart skipped a beat. She made two steps back, as if his touch burnt her.

"Yes," she replied hastily, glancing sideways for a way to flee. "Sorry," Minerva repeated herself and stormed out of the corridor. She didn't look back at the confused looks that followed her.

The way she reacted still troubled her to this very day.

"Why did you come back to the field, anyway?" Minerva asked her friend, evidently not very pleased to have gotten caught during exercises. "I've told you to go on without me."

"You've been saying that quite a lot recently," pointed out Rolanda, helping a visibly distracted Minerva to properly close the Quidditch case. She looked intently at the Gryffindor Keeper. "So, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"There's no need to," Rolanda heard in response, facing the back of Minerva's head. "I'll be fine. It will pass eventually."

This was definitely not the answer she expected. Minerva was talking about her problems in a strangely distant, emotionless manner. It gave Rolanda the creeps.

"Come on, you never tell me anything!" the older witch finally burst out. Yes, Augusta advised her to wait patiently until Minerva was ready to open up. She remembered. But Rolanda was done with waiting. This was taking much too long for her liking.

"I'm sorry," muttered Minerva, her voice full of venom, "but there are certain parts of my life I don't wish to discuss with you!"

Which didn't mean she had never tried.

Accepting Professor Dumbledore's close connections to Grindelwald was a lot to take in. Minerva felt as if she didn't even know the wizard anymore. She had troubles dealing with it all alone. But she couldn't talk to anyone about the contents of that letter, this was completely out of the question. Riddle was already spreading unverified rumours about the wizard; she didn't have to make his job any easier. Maybe a general conversation would help? She'd ask Augusta what were here thoughts on their Transfiguration teacher, or question Rolanda about his earlier years at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, no opportunity felt suitable enough to bring up the subject. When Minerva was just about to speak, she had suddenly no idea where to begin. What was there to say, really?

She had to take a different approach.

For days, she was trying to gather as much information about Professor Dumbledore as possible. Spending the whole weekend in the library resulted in several articles from old newspapers. Minerva was rewarded with a note concerning a young Albus winning the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting - which was really no surprise. Another one dealt with a Wizengamot trial of an elderly wizard, charged for misusing dangerous spells on his wife. Dumbledore's name was listed among the participants. Grindelwald was much harder to track down. According to the Daily Prophet, he was thrown out of Durmstrang at the age of sixteen and then randomly spawned as the Dark Lord no more than three years ago. There might be more written in German papers, but Minerva didn't know the language. Still, she looked through every single issue of the Prophet from fifteen years prior and found absolutely nothing that would help her. Or at least lead her in the right direction. According to the journals, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had never even met.

Rolanda narrowed her eyes in suspicion but made no further comments. Sometimes, Minerva could be more stubborn than a mule.

"Whatever's with you, I hope you'll settle it by the next match," she said, watching as her friend put the Quidditch equipment back on its place and closed the door. "When you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Minerva sighed, closing her eyes. Her friends might be neglecting her, alright. But they weren't blind. After a few days, Rolanda and Augusta noticed that something was off with Minerva. Little things. Like, it was nearly impossible to get a hold of her outside the library. Whenever approached, though, the girl would act in a strange and bizarre way. She'd put all the newspapers on one pile, covering their titles. Nervously close all the books, pretend she was already done for the day. Asked what she was doing, Minerva usually cut the conversation short and hastily left the reading room. One might suspect she was hiding something. 

There was no way to know for sure, as a proper discussion was out of the question. The girl showed no interest in any topic they'd bring up, giving brief or vague answers. On top of that, her friends had to deal with her frequent mood swings. On one day, Minerva was so angry with everything that everyone was getting out of her way. On another, she was too depressed to get up from bed. But most of the time, she simply didn't care. About anything. Every other day, Augusta and Rolanda expressed their interest in Minerva's current condition. The girls learnt nothing new, most of the time.

Last time they tried, though, Minerva went beyond herself and openly scolded them for caring. She was awarded with some time alone, but now it seemed that the Gryffindor girls were once again more worried than hurt. The young witch was sure that this time Rolanda won't let her get away so easily.

The two of them walked through the castle without exchanging a single a word. Minerva could tell that Rolanda hadn't abandoned the attempts to pull the truth out of her. Yet, she wasn't going to help her achieve this goal. The silence suited Minerva, and she had no intention of breaking it. When the young witches reached the bottom of the staircase though, Rolanda decided to voice her thoughts at last.

"If you have some serious problems," she said with hesitance, careful to choose the right words, "do you reckon Dumbledore would be able to help you?"

Minerva flinched. When she spoke, her voice expressed irritation.

"Why Dumbledore, all of a sudden?"

Rolanda slowed down on her pace. She looked at her friend with disbelief.

"What do you mean?" she asked, taken aback. "He evidently likes you. I don't think he would turn down your request."

Rolanda's conclusion might appear logical at first. But she didn't know everything. No one did.

The truth was, Minerva had no intention of talking to the Gryffindor Head of House. Last time she did, it was very awkward. She didn't feel safe in his company anymore. Thus, she had been avoiding the wizard as much as she possibly could. Each time the young witch spotted the professor at the corridor, she would take another turn. At meals, she changed her eating place and now sat in such a way that her back was turned to the teachers' table. She still had to attend the Transfiguration lessons, of course. Luckily, the professor did not bother her there. The girl could focus on her own tasks while being perfectly oblivious to whatever the rest of the class were doing.

The only times Minerva was forced to interact with her Transfiguration teacher would be during the Animagus lessons. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Hence, one day she approached the professor in order to reschedule their weekly meetings. The first time, she told him she had a very important essay to write, so she couldn't come. The second time, the girl made up some stuff about extended Quidditch practices. The Head of House tried to persuade his student to find a spare moment. "It's not advisable to make a break shortly before your first transformation," he was telling her.

After the third time, he didn't even bother anymore.

"I'll think about it," stated Minerva, searching for a quick way to change the subject.

"Here's your chance." Rolanda pointed with her head. At the top of the stairs, there was their Transfiguration Professor, talking to a pair of extremely nervous first years.

Minerva made a U-turn, but Rolanda quickly grasped her wrist.

"Where are you going?" she whispered through gritted teeth. Minerva tried to free her hand and disappear behind the corner. But it was too late. With the noise they made, the young witches were already spotted.

Minerva blinked with her eyes and slowly sighed out. She didn't have a chance to talk to Professor Dumbledore for quite a while now. She never remembered feeling so stressed at the mere sight of him. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She felt her blood flowing through her veins. Her lips went suddenly dry, and she had to mind the sound of her voice.

"Hello, Minerva, Miss Hooch," the teacher welcomed his pupils with a respectful nod.

"Hello, Professor," replied Rolanda.

"Good evening," was all Minerva managed to say, avoiding to look straight at him. Undeterred, the professor attempted to start a conversation.

"How did your Quidditch practices go? Any chances of winning the Saturday match?"

"I think that this year we have a solid team, sir," informed Rolanda. She always spoke with passion about the game. "We should give the Slythering a fight for their money."

"That's very good, Miss Hooch. I can't wait to see the results of your trainings."

"We'll do our best," she said with pride in the name of the entire team. Then, without any warning, she added, "And, Professor, I think Minerva has a favour to ask."

"Oh, does she?" the Deputy Headmaster inquired, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He turned hopefully towards the black-haired student. "What is it, Minerva?"

If sight could kill, Rolanda would be falling to the floor this instant.

"Well…" uttered Minerva, striving to buy herself some time. Her mind went momentarily blank. She had no idea what to say. "I've just thought… Could you talk to Madam Libertus, maybe? You know, about the Journal Section? Because there are many papers I would like to read, and she won't let me take any of the issues with me."

In reality, the girl had no need for a special permission. Borrowing left traces. And she didn't want anyone to know what she'd been researching. Her plea served its purpose, though. Professor Dumbledore responded with a smile.

"I'll see what I can do."

Was Minerva less focused on getting away from the professor, she would have noticed that his smile was sad and bitter.

"Could I ask you girls for a favour, as well?" Professor Dumbledore made a polite request.

The young witches looked nervously at each other but nodded nevertheless.

"Mr. Nott and Mr. Rosier are in an urgent need of being escorted to the Ravenclaw common room," the teacher continued, indicating the two first years standing quietly behind him. The boys' shoulders sank a few inches lower. "Do you think you could help them?"

Noticing that her friend is not about to give any answer, Rolanda stepped in.

"Of course we could, Professor. It's not a problem, really." She turned and waved at the Ravenclaws. "Come on, kids."

"If I could make a suggestion," Professor Dumbledore said after them, "you should avoid passing by the Charms classroom. Professor Flitwick is making certain rearrangements, and it would be best if he didn't see you."

"I don't believe it! Lucky bastards," exclaimed Rolanda when they were already out of earshot. "Last time I got caught after hours, I had to polish the silverware without using magic. It took me almost all night. Maybe because, when I wander around the castle, I have a misfortune to run into anyone but Dumbledore. Not even a warning! I wish I could ever be…"

"You're walking the students by yourself," interrupted Minerva.

"What?" The blonde-haired witch sounded genuinely shocked. "Why? What did I do?"

Minerva breathed in to retort but thought better of it. She had neither will nor power to argue with Rolanda about the appropriateness of putting one's nose into other people's business.

"Nothing," she muttered, departing from the group. "See you later."

Having said this, Minerva rushed upstairs to the Gryffindor Tower. She was done for today. She just wanted to stretch out on bed, finish the homework for tomorrow, and get a few hours' worth of sleep. The girl was walking through the common room when she heard a familiar,

"Nice ter see yeh, Minerva."

The young witch looked around. It took her a while to spot the person who called her. He was sitting in one of his usual places - on the red couch furthest from the entrance. 

"Hi, Hagrid," Minerva greeted the boy by raising her hand. When she approached him, she froze. "Dear Merlin! What happened to you?"

The wizard looked terrible. His face was covered in dirt. Several bite marks were visible on his fingers, which swelled noticeably despite being dressed in bandages. Both of his hands were full of small but deep scratches. 

"I've had a little acciden'," he reluctantly admitted, dropping his gaze to the floor, "but I'd rather talk abou' it some other place." Hagrid looked around, furrowing his brows in a meaningful way. "Less crowded, if yeh know what I mean."

He certainly had a point. For such a late hour, the common room was still relatively full. Minerva sighed. She rubbed her tired eyes.

"Alright, but I don't have much time. I'll walk you to your room, okay?"

Hagrid agreed at once. Impulsively, he wanted to jump to his feet, but this sudden movement caused his face to contort in pain. On the second attempt, still with some difficulty, he slowly stood up.

"You want me to help you?" asked Minerva, watching Hagrid take small, careful steps. She was getting worried.

The boy waved his hand dismissively.

"I'm fine, Minerva. No need ter worry 'bout me."

Without giving her a second glance, he left the room, and Minerva followed. They were climbing up the stairs to the boys' dormitory when Hagrid asked,

"So, how've yeh bin recen'ly?"

She stared at him with a blank expression, having no idea what to tell him. Caught in-between so many problems, of which an overloaded schedule was the least of her worries, Minerva realized she had no time to ponder over the way this made her feel.

"Good," she said in a voice that wouldn't convince even herself.

No wonder Hagrid didn't believe her. He was hurt that she wasn't honest with him, but had no intention to hold it against her. She must have had her reasons, as his father used to say. Besides, it wasn't that he had many other friends to choose from.

"It's alrigh' if yeh don' wanna talk 'bout it."

His remark didn't cause any reaction. The boy cautiously scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable with his companion's quietness. Once the two entered the first years' dormitory, Hagrid closed the door.

The quarters were a mirror image of Minerva's room. The same number of beds, identical furnishing. Even the mess felt strangely familiar.

"Who did this to you?" asked Minerva as soon as Hagrid turned to face her.

The young wizard sat down on the biggest four-poster and gestured for the witch to do the same. He looked intently into her dark green eyes and spoke deadly serious.

"I can tell yeh, alrigh', but yeh gotta keep yer mouth shut."

These words made Minerva uneasy. Whoever was bullying Hagrid, they deserved to be punished. She would make him see reason and report the bastards. But what if he cut her out before she had a chance to hear the entire story? How would she ever know who to watch out for if she disagreed? She had to play along.

"I won't tell a soul."

Hagrid considered her for a moment. The creases on his forehead meant that he was thinking hard, judging his guest. Finally, he made his decision.

"Okay, then." The boy eagerly hit his thighs with his palms, having once again forgotten that he wore the bandages for a reason. He made a hissing noise, which sent shivers up Minerva's spine. Undaunted, he went on. "So, as I was sayin', I… got meself a pet."

Minerva was sure she misheard him.

"A what?"

"A pet," repeated Hagrid. His grimy face brightened up with a cheerful smile. "His name's Scrappy. I made 'im a nice an' comfy bed down in the dungeons. Wanna go see 'im? He'd be so excited ter meet yeh!"

This wasn't what she expected to hear. While hiding an illegal pet was a less serious problem than she initially assumed, this was still no good. Especially that Scrappy evidently showed signs of violence. Teenage wizards could be reasoned with. But how do you teach a…

"Hagrid, what's this--" Minerva stopped to correct herself. "What kind of an animal is Scrappy?"

"Dunno," said the wizard, thoughtful. "He likes ter take a bite, tha's fer sure. An' he looks so adorable when he's sleepin'. Like a piece o' wood, come ter think o' it."

A Dugbog. A carnivorous beast feeding on frogs, small rodents, and Mandrakes. Great. Professor Beery is going to be thrilled.

"Does anyone else know about your new pal?" inquired Minerva.

Hagrid's eyebrows went up.

"No, 's a big secret. They wouldn' lemme keep 'im if they knew. Hogwarts lot's only surposed ter have toads, owls, cats…" the boy counted on his fingers. "Nice animals, they are, but kinda borin', yeh know? No offence."

Minerva was thinking hard. She had no intention to report Hagrid. Still, she would rather not be forced to deal with his troublesome pet at the moment. One more problem on her mind and she'd lose the ground under her feet, she was sure of it.

"Yeh don' seem very excited. Not at all," noticed the young wizard with much less enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry," said Minerva, shaking her head "I am excited, and very happy for you. I was just… Hagrid, what would you do if you knew that someone you liked was friends with someone you couldn't stand? Would that change anything?"

Even the young witch was surprised by her boldness. Luckily for her, Hagrid didn't know her well enough to realize that what she meant was a very specific situation, not the general case. He shot the girl a short glance before giving her his answer.

"Nah. C'mon, Minerva, yeh can be friends and all with anyone you want, an' I'll still like yeh, no problem."

"What are you…"

At first, she had no idea what he was talking about. It took several seconds for the information to sink in. The fact was that Hagrid obviously misunderstood her.

His answer, however… It completely baffled her. She was aware that most of the kids, Gryffindors included, were picking on him from the moment he set foot in the Hogwarts Express. While Minerva found such behaviour childish and unfair, the same couldn't be said about all of her friends. Repeatedly pointing out her opinion was all it took to make Augusta, Rolanda, and most of the Quidditch team stop calling people names in her presence. Some of them must have not stopped though, as Hagrid was still holding a grudge. Yet, she had no power over her friends when she was not around.

The girl knew that comparing Hogwarts students to Grindelwald's followers was like comparing garden gnomes to mountain giants. Nevertheless, this inconspicuous first year opened her eyes to a very important matter that hadn't occurred to her before: Dumbledore might have been Grindelwald's friend without sympathizing with his ideas or accepting them.

And it made all the difference.


	13. "Expecting too much"

"That's it for now. Thank you all for your attention."

At the sound of these words, the conference room began to empty. Despite all the noises of commotion, it was still possible to hear some parts of conversations. Most of which concerned the Headmaster's speech.

Before he knew, Armando was left all alone. He absentmindedly collected his things from the desktop and headed out of the room. His thoughts still lingered around the topic of the extraordinary staff meeting which he convened about an hour ago.

Today was a tough day for everyone. It marked the first time in Armando's work as the Headmaster that the lives of teachers and students were influenced by the political situation of the country. The Muggle war that had been consuming Europe for over two years now finally made its way to the Hogwarts grounds. It was no longer safe to wander outside the school, visit Hogsmeade, or even practice Quidditch without a teacher's supervision.

Emergency patrols were suggested by Dumbledore months ago. After the Battle for England took place, he stated it was just a matter of time until the enemy forces reached Hogwarts. Of course, Dippet didn't want to listen to the Deputy, who had many more ideas than this. One more bizarre than the other. Who, on Merlin's hat, would ever fear Muggles? Armando took some minimal precautions just to humour his friend. But when Gringotts and the Ministry for Magic took some action, he had no counterarguments. If two of the safest places in Great Britain felt the need for extra security measures, then so did he.

The Headmaster suspected that Professor Dumbledore would be happy with his decision and that he would express his support on the meeting. Albus always took part in discussions with exceptional eagerness whenever he turned out to be right. This time, however, he remained suspiciously quiet. The wizard made no comment to his boss's orders, had no questions regarding the shifts, and was the first one to leave after Armando dismissed the staff.

When Professor Dippet entered the staffroom, it was nearly deserted. He noticed Herbert Beery and Galatea Merrythought leave together. On the opposite side, Cuthbert Binns was resting by the fireplace, reading The Complete History of Magical World. In the middle of the room, the Headmaster spotted the very man he was looking for -- the Head of Gryffindor House.

Dumbledore was sitting in his favourite chair at the long pinewood table, apparently waiting for something. It was highly unusual to see the wizard waste his precious time so carelessly. Armando had rarely seen Albus do nothing when he could as well be preparing for his next lessons, grading essays, reading the most recent issue of Transfiguration Today. Or relaxing behind one of the Muggle fantasy novels he loved so much. But definitely not just sitting there, looking around, occasionally glancing at the watch. And then once again, as if he hadn't registered the time or wanted to make sure that he got it correctly.

This all worried Dippet. Slowly, he approached the wizard and made a remark concerning his odd behaviour. 

To no response.

Now positively alarmed, Armando touched the Deputy's shoulder.

"Albus, did you hear what I've just said?"

"Pardon me?" asked Dumbledore with honest surprise. Apparently, he was totally unaware of everything going on around him.

The Headmaster took a deep breath. Resigned and a little irritated, he asked the question he didn't really want answered.

"You're still angry with me, aren't you?"

Albus was reluctant to face his superior. Giving Armando's words a few seconds worth of thought, the wizard said,

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

Dippet's features turned a light shade of red. One of the greatest wizards of his age or not, Dumbledore had no right to treat his superior the way he did.

"You know very well that there were no indications-"

Professor Dippet's explanation was interrupted by the knock on the door, which echoed around the nearly empty room. The Deputy's head sprung towards the source of the noise. He jumped to his feet, almost knocking down his own chair. His eyes still fixed on the entrance.

"Excuse me," Albus blurted in half-whisper, trying to keep his voice steady.

He could feel the blood pulsing in his throat with every heartbeat. Confused with his reaction, the wizard took a deep, slow breath. Next moment, he walked calmly as ever to answer the door. Secretly wishing to see the person he'd been waiting for.

Between the stone Gargoyles that were guarding the entrance, there stood a raven-haired fourth year. Her school robes were considerably crumpled, her hair hastily tied. She looked as if she'd been running, but not out of breath.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," said Minerva in an exaggeratedly formal manner. "I am sorry for being late."

Albus couldn't tell whether she truly was.

"Hello, Minerva." The professor greeted his student with a bitter smile. "Could you please wait a minute? I'll go take the key."

The girl nodded, looking sideways.

Albus hurried through the staffroom, took the key from one of the nails, and rushed back. On his way to the entrance door, he remembered about Armando. Nearly tripping, the wizard made a turn toward the table. 

"Sorry, but I have a student waiting. We'll finish this some other time."

Not thinking much, he left a slightly hurt and very confused Headmaster alone in the staffroom.

Right after they entered the classroom, Minerva took out her wand, ready to begin. She didn't bother to wait for the Transfiguration Professor to reach the teacher's desk nor even to put her bag away. Having noticed this unusual behaviour of hers, the wizard gestured to the nearest chair.

"Sit down, Minerva. I have a few questions for you."

The witch paled. The only thing she definitely didn't want to be questioned about sprang to her mind.

He knows, the girl thought in panic. But how could he? She didn't tell a soul.

Moving incredibly slow for a person with such an adrenaline rush, Minerva wondered whether it would be wise to deny everything. Of course, it would be much better not to play spy in her Head of House's office in the first place. But it was definitely too late for such reflections. 

Unable to postpone the conversation any longer, not without raising suspicions, the young witch pulled up the chair with a loud scraping noise. She sat bolt upright, her knees together, her hands on her laps, as they wouldn't stop shaking. She looked as if she was about to be interrogated. A bright, blinding light gleaming at her face from behind Professor Dumbledore's back would complete the picture.

When Albus took the place next to her, he noticed Minerva move away a few inches. He might have found this view amusing if it hadn't saddened him.

"It's been some time since our last meeting," the teacher stated calmly to the top of his student's head. Her eyes were fixed upon the floor. A few seconds into the silence, he asked, "Do you remember where we left off?"

The witch curtly nodded, saving the details for herself. In case she didn't remember, however, Albus quickly summarized,

"Last time we met, you successfully conjured the corporeal Patronus, which happened to take the form of a cat. By now, you should be able to reproduce it at will, I presume." Minerva confirmed his suspicions, so the wizard continued. "Right before we parted, I recommended you to get familiar with the topics that are crucial for your future progress. Have you managed to do so?"

"Yes, sir," replied Minerva. She gave out a short cough, unable to recognize her own voice. Then, from her bag, the girl pulled out three hard-covered volumes and handed them back to their owner with a simple, "Thank you."

Professor Dumbledore put the books on the desktop without a second glance. He took a careful look at his student, his piercing blue eyes dimmed a little.

"Do you have any questions?" he inquired.

After a moment long enough to make Minerva's statement lose credibility, she answered,

"No, I don't."

The teacher wasn't happy with her answer but knew better than to push her.

"Have you attempted to transform yourself yet?"

"No," the girl replied almost at once.

Albus watched her suspiciously with his eyebrow raised.

"No, sir. I did not," she reassured him, remembering very well what had happened the last time she transfigured herself without anyone's supervision. This was not the event she would like to relive.

"Alright, then," said the professor, nodding in approval. "Could you please show me your incantation?"

If possible, Minerva sat even straighter than before. Having half-closed her eyes, she extended her right hand and arched her fingers around an invisible wand. She made a few short movements while saying,

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus."

After she reopened her eyes, she involuntarily locked them with the Transfiguration Professor, who was carefully watching her performance. When she did, he tried to smile at her the way he used to whenever she looked at him for a little longer than usual. But it was a forced smile.

"I see you've already perfected the wording and the wand movement," stated the wizard, glancing sideways for a moment. "Now, it's time for the hardest part. You need to transfigure yourself, all at once. Every part of your body, every bone and every muscle. If you have troubles remembering how your Patronus looks like, you can summon it for reference. No reason to make things any harder than they already are."

Having said what he felt he had to say, Albus moved to sit on the teacher's desk. Minerva walked quietly to the middle of the classroom.

"You haven't been practicing for some time," the professor added as an afterthought. "This is alright if you wish to warm up first."

The young witch shook her head decisively.

"No need to, I'm ready."

She dropped her gaze to a black stain on the floor. With the tip of her wand, she pointed at her heart and said the incantation very clearly:

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus!"

At once, the girl's form began to change. Her whole body was shrinking and leaning forward to assume the quadruped position. The clothes were melting with her skin to become fur. Her hair shortened, her skin vibrated. Next moment, she found herself kneeling on the stone floor and looking at her very ordinary, human hands.

"First internal organs, then the musculoskeletal system," commented Professor Dumbledore, watching Minerva get back to her feet.

Still a little disoriented, the young witch stood firmly on the ground. She closed her eyes, concentrated once more, and repeated the spell.

She cast it over and over again. With each try, Albus noticed, the girl was becoming more impatient, irritated, tired, and therefore likely to make mistakes. Of which she'd made plenty already. Despite the fact, after the first few attempts, Minerva stopped waiting for the Transfiguration Professor's guidelines, brushing them off with a hasty "Yes, I know".

When the young witch misspelled the incantation for the second time, Professor Dumbledore stepped in.

"That's enough for today, Minerva," he stated calmly.

The girl transformed for yet another time, pretending not to have heard him.

"Minerva, that's enough," the wizard repeated more firmly.

Still, to no effect.

"Minerva."

He didn't even raise his voice. Yet, his peremptory tone made Minerva flinch. She felt her wand leave her hand and zoom towards the Transfiguration Professor. The wizard caught it with ease.

The young witch looked at him with anger and disbelief.

“There is no need for you to continue,” said Albus in the same calm tone as before. Like nothing had happened. “You won't be able to make any further progress.”

He walked over and handed the wand back to her.

“Thank you,” the girl whispered, and then continued with a much stronger voice, “but please let me try a couple more times. Sir. I have to– get this right.”

The girl tried to clear her throat, which caused her to cough instead.

"Could I have– something to drink?" she asked in a muffled voice.

“Of course you could,” said Albus, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment. He'd never forgotten that before.

With one flick of the wand, he summoned a glass of pumpkin juice.

“Here you go,” he stated, pocketing his wand.

Minerva downed the drink with one gulp. Deducing that his student must have been very thirsty, the Transfiguration Professor refilled her glass in an instant.

“So,” said the teacher in an attempt to start a conversation, “how are your studies?”

The young Gryffindor took another sip.

“Fine,” he heard in response.

“And what about Quidditch? Are you getting along well with your new team mates?”

“Yes,” answered Minerva in the same discouraging manner.

Albus sighed inwardly on the girl's reaction to him reaching out to her. Not with irritation or anger, but rather with sadness and disappointment.

There was an awkward silence that neither attempted to brake. This was definitely new. Never before had Minerva felt so uncomfortable in the presence of her Transfiguration teacher. The witch had no idea where to look or what to do with her hands. Therefore, she focused all of her attention on the drink, glancing at the wizard from time to time.

Professor Dumbledore was sitting on the desk in his favourite pose, his hands together at his lap. He wasn't looking at her, at least not when she was looking at him. Instead, the wizard occupied himself with admiring the classroom's decoration. And wondering.

From what he observed, Albus easily deduced that his student didn't let her guard down when he was around. She was constantly minding him, dividing her attention instead of focusing on a single task. He knew it would be hard for them to go on. Without trusting him, without being sure that he would be there had anything gone wrong, the young witch was going to find it almost impossible to become an Animagus. Worst of all, Dumbledore knew that this was all his fault. And he had no clue how to help her.

His reflections were interrupted by Minerva's impatient voice.

"Professor?"

Pulled out of his thoughts, Professor Dumbledore took a moment to focus on the person sitting opposite him. When the girl was sure that she caught the teacher's attention, she pointed with her head towards the centre of the room.

"Can we?" she asked hopefully.

Although the question was vague, the wizard knew very well what she was indicating.

"Yes," he replied, still a little distracted. Having gotten to his feet, he repeated more confidently, "Of course we can."

Minerva followed the Transfiguration Professor. She drew out her wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery, misty feline creature erupted from her wand. Soon, it disappeared, but not before the girl had a chance to recall its features.

Albus smirked to himself. Sometimes he was able to give a useful hint, after all.

His joy was short-lived, though. His student was still exhausted and making one mistake after another. After he untransfigured her for the last time, the girl grabbed the nearest desk for support.

"Now, it's definitely enough for today," stated Professor Dumbledore in a tired voice. Having forgotten for a moment to keep his distance, he came a little closer and asked, "Can you make it to the chair?"

“I'm pathetic," said Minerva without a warning. "Is there even a point for me to keep going?"

Albus blinked, not sure whether he heard the question correctly. Did she indeed ask him what he thought she did? The girl couldn't possibly think that she was no good only because she failed on the first few attempts. 

Except, she did.

Mere months ago, he remembered, he would offer her an understanding smile. Or make her laugh with a well-placed joke.

Now, it didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Don't you think you're expecting too much from yourself?" he said instead, trying not to sound patronizing. "From the very beginning, we were talking about years of dedication to achieve a single goal. Still, you managed to master the Patronus charm sooner than either of us had expected. You should give yourself a little more time, Minerva. Why are you rushing yourself all the time?"

There were many answers he expected: to impress her friends, to finally be able to work on something else, to get maximum marks on her Transfiguration O.W.L. − not that she wouldn't otherwise. But the young Gryffindor surprised him once again.

"I'd just like to get it over with as soon as possible."

Minerva's tone was official, her words sounded distant. Her face was hard to read, but one thing was clear as a summer sky.

She didn't want him there.

When Albus realized the meaning behind her words and actions, he was speechless. He felt as if someone emptied a bucket of cold water over his head. Her words hurt him. He had no idea why they bothered him this much, but they did. Rightfully or not, he couldn't help it.

The wizard swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of defeat. He watched the view outside the window. On the other side of the castle, there was a massive tower raising magnificently into the sky.

Funny. This was the first time he'd ever noticed.

"I'm sorry if our private lessons don't live up to your expectations," said Dumbledore slowly, minding every word. With difficulty, he made himself add, "I'm sure I could find you another teacher if you wish to be taught by someone else."

Even Minerva was dumbfounded with her response.

"No!" she said unexpectedly, looking at the wizard as if she'd seen him properly for the first time. She might have thought that changing the teacher was her best option, alright. Yet, the moment she heard Professor Dumbledore say it out loud, the girl was sure never truly wanted anyone else.

Having realized that her objection must have sounded silly and childish, she added,

"I think that won't be necessary."

Her abrupt reaction gave Albus hope that not everything was lost. Maybe if he played this right, he could try to win her over.

"Thank Merlin," said the professor, to some extent feigning the signs of relief. "Because I was totally bluffing. No idea who else here, at Hogwarts, would know enough about Transfiguration to teach you at your current level. Professor Merrythought? Or Professor Slughorn, maybe?"

Minerva shrugged at the thought.

"Oh no, thank you very much. Everyone's better than him."

Despite himself, Albus smiled with amusement.

"I didn't know you disliked Horace," he said interrogatively, finding his student's opinion unusual. In fact, most girls thought of the Potions Master as kind, charming, eloquent, and − most importantly − handsome.

"We just don't enjoy each other's company, that's all."

"I could swear he was always speaking fondly of you."

Minerva snorted, unimpressed.

"You're right, Professor Slughorn has one major flaw," said the Transfiguration Professor, making a short pause for a better effect. As the young Gryffindor was listening to him carefully, he finished his thought. "He dislikes magical creatures."

This statement actually made Minerva chuckle.

And, before either of them realized, they were having an actual conversation. Although they talked about nothing in particular, this was a nice change in the mood in their recent relations. Somewhat unwillingly, Minerva had to admit to herself that she missed spending time with Professor Dumbledore. Apparently, he missed her, as well.

What stroke the witch most was that her teacher was really making an effort to keep the discussion going. Every now and then, he threw in a smart joke or an adequate allusion.

She wondered why. After the way she treated him for the past months, after all she'd done to him… why bother?

Maybe he just wanted everything to be back to normal. The way it used to be not too long ago.

Then again, so did she.


	14. "It wasn't a date"

A very angry Augusta burst into the dormitory room. She slammed the door with such force that the glass shook dangerously in the window frames. At once, Minerva noticed a drastic change in the girl's outfit. She was wearing neither the school uniform nor the usual old-but-comfortable clothes she put on in her free time. Rather, she'd dressed into very feminine yellow robes that reached barely below her knees. Minerva knew very little about those things, but she was sure that some boys would find her friend pretty. If only her cheeks weren't brick red and her face contorted with rage.

"There you are!" said Augusta sharply, walking nervously around the place. "I need to talk to you."

Just great, thought Minerva. Apparently, Rolanda wasn't back yet - otherwise, Augusta would much prefer to hold a conversation with her instead. Minerva specifically skipped today's trip to Hogsmeade so that she would be spared the first-hand report. As well as to catch up with her studies, which had recently been neglected in favour of her Animagus training. Looked like she would accomplish neither, after all.

"How was your date?" asked Minerva politely from behind the textbook she was reading.

Augusta looked away. Her brows furrowed noticeably, her face tensed. Not the first reaction one would expect on the topic with many positive connotations.

"It wasn't a date," she spat with anger.

Minerva looked up from her reading, interested by this unexpected revelation.

"What do you mean it wasn't a date?" asked the witch, lifting one eyebrow.

Augusta burst out so suddenly and unexpectedly that she made Minerva flinch.

"That git Alastor is such a moron! After all this time, he finally found the guts to ask me out, and all he could ever talk about was Poppy! Do you get it?"

She'd heard the name before, Minerva was sure of it. Unable to remember where exactly, she decided to make an educated guess.

"Poppy? You mean one of the Hufflepuff juniors you tutor?"

Augusta snorted loudly.

"The very same one."

After she properly absorbed the news, Minerva's eyebrows reached her forehead in honest surprise. She always thought highly of Alastor Moody. Sure, he had his flaws; everyone had. But the boy never looked like the kind of wizard to play with somebody's feelings. Unless he never noticed the way Augusta was looking at him in the first place.

"If he's so curious, why didn't he ask someone from her own house?" inquired Minerva.

"As if I knew!" Augusta nearly shouted. Her roommate had never seen her this agitated. "Why don't you go to the Ravenclaw common room and ask him? You could brake his nose on your way out for all I care."

The witch gestured so vigorously that she knocked down a pile of parchments from Minerva's cabinet. The loose sheets scattered all over the room.

"Oh, sorry, Minerva. Didn't mean to," she said apologetically, trying to catch the notes before they hit the floor. But ending up making more mess instead.

Without thinking, Minerva jumped to her side to help. The pile had been accumulating since the beginning of the school year. Which meant that it might contain certain notes not meant for anyone else's eyes. Having hastily collected everything from under the bed, the girl snatched the rest of the papers from Augusta's hands to put them back where they belonged, face down.

In order to avoid coincidentally destroying more of her friend's possessions, Augusta sat down in the nearest chair. Feeling less angry than a moment ago, the young witch used the prolonged silence to change the subject to the one she was always curious about. Couldn't help to do it with a little teasing.

"So, how was your date?"

This didn't seem like a good idea, after all. Minerva glared back at her with a look that could melt lead if it tried to.

"Jeez, don't give me that look!" stated Augusta defensively, withdrawing a little. "Mine wasn't a date, either."

"Very funny," the other witch replied with evident sarcasm.

She hated when Augusta or Rolanda joked about certain topics. And they knew she did, Minerva made sure to remind them far too many times. To her dismay, they refused to understand that their attempts to be funny hurt rather than amused her.

If Minerva had a choice, she'd gladly go out with one of the boys, be it the handsome substitute Chaser or the cute Ravenclaw she shared a bench with. Instead, she was stuck in the castle with Dumbledore. Neither of them was planning to go to Hogsmeade, so there was no reason to postpone their weekly lessons scheduled for Saturday morning. Minerva's friends never found the details of her Animagus training interesting, but Augusta had asked for this.

She took a deep breath.

"Alright, if you really need to know, here it goes: I'm still having problems with the spinal cord, but I finally got the lumbar part right, so we can at last move to the caudal part. There, I need to focus on the coccyx, which is going to be a pain because I have four fused vertebrae instead of twenty two separate ones. And then, it's only the tapetum lucidum, Jacobson's organ, appendix, and I'm done. You satisfied?"

Augusta rolled her eyes in exasperation. This was not the first time she couldn't understand a word from what her friend was saying.

"English, will you?" the witch prompted.

Minerva frowned, slightly irritated.

"Why can't I even talk to anyone about my work?" she asked with impatience, not really expecting a definitive answer.

"You can," she heard in response. "Just try to use small words."

The girl exaggerated a sigh. How was she supposed to tell what exactly she was doing without using the specialist terminology? She opted for a quick summary.

"I still have some problems to overcome, but I hope to be done with them as soon as possible. Dumbledore thinks I'm doing fine, and I can say it's a matter of time before I succeed. Unfortunately, after over an hour, I was unable to continue."

Actually, Dumbledore suggested to finish early on his own behalf, but Minerva decided to keep this fact to herself.

"So what were you doing for the rest of the time?" inquired Augusta, eyeing Minerva with suspicion. "The Fat Lady said you came back like five minutes ago."

Minerva thought back two hours. She was leaning against a bench, bending forward, panting slightly. She'd just been transformed back to her human form for Merlin knows which time. Human Transfiguration was a very energy-draining experience, even if she was doing only half the work. After weeks of practice, the girl was able to recover faster than she used to. Still, she had to force herself to put on a neutral face in order to appear totally collected and in control.

"You're slowly getting there, Minerva," informed the Transfiguration Professor, beaming at his student. "You made great progress."

"Thanks," she whispered a little awkwardly. This was one of the rare moments when she agreed with her teacher on the matter of her performance. Which obviously didn't mean that she was used to receiving recognition for her accomplishments. "So, what do we do now?"

Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth but said nothing. Instead, he turned away and looked through the window, apparently considering something.

"We should probably call it a day," he stated with finality.

"What? Why?" Minerva protested before she could stop herself. "I can go on, I don't mind."

"But I do," said the professor wearily, clenching his fingers on the edge of the desk. "Forgive me, but my age must be catching up with me. I feel exhausted."

And he looked it, too, as Minerva didn't fail to notice after giving it a thought. During the lessons, for obvious reasons, the witch was too self-absorbed to pay attention to her surroundings. Although she could swear that Dumbledore seemed fine when they started. Did keeping an eye on her cost the wizard so much effort that he was now in no better condition than his student? 

"Okay, we can continue next week," the girl agreed without another complaint. The longer she observed the teacher, the more she was sure that something was off. Her eyebrows frowned a little, expressing worry. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," Professor Dumbledore replied politely. He was facing Minerva now but his eyes were on everything but her.

Unsure whether she was permitted to leave, the young witch stood glued to the spot, waiting for the Transfiguration Professor to say something. When he didn't for quite some time, she slowly turned to the door. After she made no more than two steps, the girl heard from behind her,

"What would you say for a game of chess?"

She looked around, not sure whether her ears weren't playing tricks on her. The professor still didn't meet her gaze but was admiring the chess pieces lying at the shelf. Had the set always been there? Minerva hadn't noticed.

"I love chess," she answered truthfully, momentarily cheering up. "I'm still not used to the wizarding ones, though."

Professor Dumbledore smiled with understanding.

"Yes, they can be brutal sometimes."

He took one pawn of each colour, hid them behind his back, and then stretched out his clenched fists, asking, 

"Black or white?"

The young witch smiled at the memory. Without meeting Augusta's eyes, she gave her a censored version of her morning activities.

"You know, the usual. Talking…" She hesitated for a moment. "Mostly talking."

After years of acquaintanceship, it seemed, Augusta learned that if there was a piece of information her friend didn't want to share, it was better not to push her. Instead, she asked,

"Did you hear anything interesting this time?"

Minerva scanned her memory in search for the things Dumbledore directly stated not to repeat to anyone. Then, she recited in one breath,

"It's even more dangerous in Europe than ever before. Durmstrang was closed, and Beauxbatons will surely follow. Until Grindelwald's army crosses the borders, we're safe, thank Merlin. I wrote a very interesting essay on Cross-Species. Oh, and Dumbledore knew your date wasn't a date."

Augusta's jaw dropped.

"Don't talk with the professors about my personal life!"

"I was just making conversation," replied Minerva in a casual tone. "How should I know it was such a big secret?"

Her friend sighed with a sense of helplessness.

This was one of the things about Augusta that Minerva could never understand. The girl had nothing against discussing Dumbledore's life with her, but she got agitated whenever Minerva told the teacher anything about hers. The wizard knew all of her friends; it was obvious that sometimes they would be a topic of their casual conversations. Worried Augusta would start one of her rants again, Minerva changed the subject.

"Can I borrow your notes for the evening?"

"What?" Augusta asked distractedly, but she quickly recovered. "Sure, no problem. Potions, Care for Magical Creatures?"

Minerva considered the question for a moment.

"History of Magic," she stated with confidence. "Last three lessons."

Augusta nodded in confirmation. She was having problems with the final assignment for Charms and hoped Minerva would let her copy hers. This was worth a year's notes, let alone three weeks'. 

"Alright. I'll finish the homework and bring it back to you."

The black-haired witch looked back at her, puzzled.

"There was homework?"

Certain that her friend was joking around, Augusta grinned widely as she provided the answer.

"Of course there was. A twenty-inch summary? On the Giant Wars of eighteenth century?" Minerva's confused expression told her that she wasn't kidding. The girl shook her head and went on. "If you didn't even start, you'd better hurry. It took me the whole day to write it. Boring as hell."

"Giants?" Now Minerva sounded positively baffled. "What happened to Goblins?"

Augusta's amusement was replaced with irritation.

"We finished the Goblin Rebellions last month. What were you, asleep?"

"No," murmured Minerva in a slightly offended tone. "Finishing the project for Arithmancy."

There was a short pause. She managed to read half a page before Augusta couldn't contain herself anymore and burst out once more.

"How could he do something like this to me? That little twerp! I'll never forgive him, he can be sure about that."

"You're still not over it?" commented Minerva, annoyed that Augusta expressed her thoughts out of context.

"Of course I'm not!" replied her friend. Her voice was raising. "The idiot played with my feelings. Used me to accomplish his goal. How do I get over that?"

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Minerva stated matter-of-factly, flipping the page. "It sounds like you don't even like him anymore."

"That's hardly the point. What is he, twelve? You can't be treating people the way he does."

Minerva sighed heavily, tired of Augusta's rambling speech. She stopped trying to hide her impatience. Hoping her next statement would end the topic, she added,

"With the fifth year coming soon, one would expect you have more urgent things to care about."

The other witch leaned forward in her chair, folding her arms.

"Oh, come on! I can't even complain with you around. Stop rationalizing everything I say and telling me I have no problems."

"That's not what I was saying, but you have a point here. Try for once to enjoy a good thing in your life instead of talking it to death and worrying about every insignificant flaw."

"You don't understand me because you don't know the whole story," announced Augusta with sudden revelation. She shifted to sit in a more comfortable position as she said, "Let me tell you everything from the beginning."

Minerva screamed on the inside, wishing she was everywhere but there, on her bed, about to spend the next hour listening to every single detail of Augusta's morning. Even a detention with Mr. Pringle sounded promising. A few lashes and she'd be free for the evening.

Oblivious to her friend's suffering, Augusta continued.

"Today, I woke up an hour early to get my hair done. I put on this dress - I picked it up last month to wear it on a special occasion, remember? No, wait, this was two months ago. Or one. Doesn't matter. But then, when I got down for breakfast…"

At this point, Minerva stopped paying the slightest attention, nodding on autopilot every now and then. Unable to focus on her book, she analyzed the last several meetings with Dumbledore, noting how much easier it was to converse with him than either of the girls.

Ever since they resumed Minerva's training after the few months break, the teacher became more talkative and easier to get answers from than before. While the student was afraid to push her luck, she appreciated every detail the wizard shared with her on his own accord. His openness on controversial topics made her feel more mature. She wondered whether he valued her company as much as she valued his.

Deep in thoughts, Minerva barely registered the moment she was left alone.


	15. "Notes of progress"

In one instant, she was completely overcome with a mix of powerful emotions. Most of which she couldn't even name. Never before in her life had Minerva experienced anything similar. She could feel her elevated heartbeat contrast with her slow, deep breaths. With her stomach in her throat, the girl felt as if she'd just fell off the broom at top speed and was unsure when she'd hit the ground.

She tried to think straight but she couldn't. Her head was hurting her more than ever. Unknowingly, the witch had been holding her breath for some time now, which was making her more and more dizzy. There seemed to be much too many impulses, way too many sensations. After all, it seemed unwise to have closed her eyes beforehand. The external stimuli overwhelmed Minerva. Although she should probably be excited with what was happening, she wished for this to stop. It was simply too much for her.

The girl blinked several times, shaking her head to stop the buzzing in her ears. When she looked up, the first thing she saw was a pair of twinkling blue eyes. Professor Dumbledore was beaming at her. His warm smile was wide and sincere.

"You finally did it, Minerva," he stated, not breaking the eye contact. "I'm so glad."

"What are you…" she said, but no words came out. Surprised and a little confused, she repeated the sentence. Yet, all that escaped her mouth was an indistinctive squeak.

"You may want to say that again in a moment," informed the professor, visibly amused. "May I?"

In response, the young witch slowly nodded and waited for his move, eyes closed once again. Seconds later, when she peeked experimentally from behind her half-closed eyelids, she realized that Dumbledore's head was now further away from hers.

Albus carefully watched his student from a certain distance. She still seemed a little confused, but apparently her perception was getting back to normal. The moment a grin crept onto her face, he knew Minerva had just realized the implications of what had happened not even a minute ago.

"Well, how was it?" inquired the Transfiguration Professor, interested in what she had to say.

If Dumbledore had expected the girl to run around and scream with joy, he would have been thoroughly disappointed. Fortunately, he knew her better than that. One time, he remembered, when Minerva ended up third in the school singing contest, one could hardly tell that she was pleased with herself. On the other occasion, she barely acknowledged the event but acted cheerfully later on. This was after winning the Quidditch Cup last season. Now, all his student did was glance at him as he spoke, and then away to give his question a thought.

"Like nothing I've ever felt before," she said dreamily, reliving her first successful Animagus transformation. The witch had so much to tell the professor, and yet so little words came to her mind. She paced around the place, struggling to find the right expressions. "There was so much going on around me. I could sense things I never even knew existed! And all the time I thought my head was going to explode. I could see and hear you but it was all fuzzy and clouded. I had a feeling that someone was poking my head and messing with my brain, and I wanted them to stop."

Noticing the Transfiguration Professor's uncertain look, Minerva reassuringly added, "But it was great! I mean, I've waited for it for so long. For months, I've been preparing for this exact moment. And now, it's−"

The witch paused mid-sentence, her eyes still on Professor Dumbledore. She was hit with a sudden realization. Her smile vanished, as the time had come to finish their final lesson.

"So, that's it," she said in a sad voice. "We won't be working together anymore."

"No, we won't," the professor agreed. He felt he should say something comforting, but all he could think of was,  "Unless you're not satisfied with your accomplishments so far."

At the girl's puzzled but hopeful expression, he went on.

"If transforming once is what makes an Animagus for you, so be it. Still, I reckon it would be wise for you to learn how to transform back. Later, you could even try switching forms without the need of a wand."

Albus noticed Minerva's features relax an inch, her expression content. From the way her eyes brightened, he could tell his student would love to learn the things he mentioned.

"Sounds good," she admitted, confirming his suspicions. "Yes, I'd like that."

One thing was still bothering her, though. As she settled down at a first-row bench, the witch asked, "All these… sounds and smells, and senses, and emotions I cannot find a name for. Will they ever go away?"

Professor Dumbledore hurried with an explanation.

"Eventually, yes, your feelings will be less intense. But only after you spend some time as a cat. Your homework will be simply staying in your animal form while doing everyday things, but only after we both decide you are ready to change without me hanging around." The wizard took another breath before he added,  "Have you been making the notes of your progress?"

Minerva blinked. She was caught off guard by the teacher's question. Of course, she had been documenting her work every step of the way. Professor Dumbledore himself suggested her to do so. And, as usual, she complied with his request. Still, as far as the girl knew, these were supposed to be her private notes. Therefore, they were more like a diary with elements of a scientific report than anything else. She never assumed anyone but her would ever read them.

Wondering about a way to deflect, she raised her eyebrow and slowly asked,

"Why are you asking?"

The Transfiguration Professor ignored her question.

"Have you been thinking of publishing them?"

Minerva looked at him with an incomprehensive expression, her face still red with emotions.

"Wait a moment," she said, holding up her hand. "I'm not sure I follow. You think someone would want to – print my notes?" she asked in a tone of honest disbelief.

"Yes, I do," the professor stated matter-of-factly. As if he was telling his student that she got yet another Outstanding on his test. "I never would have joked about anything of such importance."

A wide smile found its way onto Minerva's face. She was only in her fourth year, and she was going to have her first article published! She knew her accomplishment was one to reckon with. Still, the thought that people would be interested in paying to read about it was new to her.

"I fully realize that, at your current age, you probably don't give much thought to your future," stated the teacher with understanding. "But let me assure you that having an article on your record may come up in handy during a recruitment process for your future job. Besides, I truly believe that next generations of young witches and wizards could benefit from your work."

Minerva wanted to say that there is actually one career path she considered. Before she opened her mouth, though, the professor continued.

"Of course, we'll have to make everything official first. Most importantly, register you at the Ministry. Have you seen the official list of Animagi?"

The girl nodded. This was the first thing she lied her eyes on. There were like a dozen people there, not a single name she'd known or heard about at the time.

"As you may recall, there are eleven names there. This means eleven potential reviewers. An interesting fact is that none of them registered before turning forty."

This piece of information mildly surprised Minerva. In the books Professor Dumbledore lend her, it was clearly stated that hardly any wizards delved into the branch of advanced human transfiguration before coming of age. Still, there was a huge gap between the age of seventeen and of the youngest registered British Animagus.

"It is more than certain that your paper will be sent to one of the three most respected specialists," said the Transfiguration Professor, putting his hands together and taking on a more serious look. "Evelyn Rockwood's characteristic trait is a pedantic attention to linguistic details. Eric Blishwick believes a bibliography to be incomplete if it does not include his latest monograph. Adam Wilkes is hardly ever available, so there's a fair chance he'll decline. If not, you'll have to prepare yourself to send your manuscript back and forth. Not everyone understands young people's impatience to see their name printed for the first time or their urge to speed up the publishing process."

Minerva stared at the teacher with her eyes wide open, feeling a new wave of admiration. Theoretically, she knew that there was more to Dumbledore's job than teaching students. Yet, she had barely seen him fulfilling this part of his job description. While he was talking about the academics, he was focused, confident, compelling. The girl could tell that the professor loved what he was doing.

"What is it?" he asked with a chuckle, aware of being studied.

"You seem to know a lot about these people."

Dumbledore offered Minerva one of the rare smiles that made her feel uneasy.

"I've been in this business for a while," the wizard admitted. He picked up the owl quill from the teacher's desk to examine it but quickly lost interest. "I also know that, before you start writing, you need to think what journal you'd like to send your article to. In my personal opinion, you shouldn't consider general magazines, like _Magical Progress_ or _Journal of Magic_. It would be more beneficial to focus on the journals specializing in transfiguration. _Magic Review A: Transfiguration_ , _Theoretical and Applied Switching Spells_ , _Transfiguration Today_ …"

"You're thinking of _Transfiguration Today_?" Minerva couldn't believe her ears. This was one of the highest ranked specialized journals in the world. Heavily cited, very prestigious, given a lot of points on the List of Ministry's Scored Journals. Every witch and wizard dreamed of seeing their name printed there.

"Yes, I am," the teacher replied, clearly pleased to hear her excitement. "If it is to your liking, I'd suggest you take a look at the style and formatting of their articles. If you're still having problems with borrowing the library magazines, I'd be happy to lend you a few issues."

The young witch scratched her forearm uncomfortably, feeling a little embarrassed. She wished she had made up another excuse this one time the Transfiguration Professor asked how he could help her. Hoping he would drop the topic, she followed a different subject.

"I've always thought you have one version and send it to several places, until one accepts."

Professor Dumbledore shook his head.

"You can send to one place at a time. Only when it gets declined, you're allowed to try elsewhere. You're free to improve your work beforehand. Once you know what makes your article more likely to be accepted, it would be a waste not to use this knowledge, don't you think?"

Minerva wasn't convinced. She considered such behaviour cheating. But then, if everyone else was doing it, she didn't want to be placed at a clear disadvantage.

"Remember," the Transfiguration Professor continued, "you need to include a bibliography. The books you learned from are a good starting point. Next, you can check their lists of references."

Having stayed in one position for too long, Albus felt his legs go numb. He stood up, stretched out his joints, and pulled up a chair to sit closer to Minerva. So far, the witch nodded at his words, taking in everything he was telling her. There was one more thing he had to bring up, though.

"You should know, Minerva, that it's customary for students to publish with their teachers," he informed, putting his arms together on the desktop. "Having someone well-known as a co-author usually speeds up the publishing process and makes it easier to receive favourable reviews. But it's by no means mandatory. If you decide to publish the article under your name alone, I will not force you to change your mind."

The new piece of information saddened Minerva. This was her first publication and she didn't want to share it with anyone. True, the girl had just been told she did not have to agree, but what difference did it make? If she declined, Professor Dumbledore probably would not help her. And she needed his help. From the very beginning, until the very end.

Then, she realized something important. Something whose significance had somehow eluded her.

After all, Dumbledore put nearly as much work into her Animagus lessons as she did. He tried to hide it, but by the end of every lesson he was nearly as drained as she was. He was always ready to answer her questions, to give advice, to watch out for her. Whether or not having another article published was his underlying reason to do so, Minerva didn't know. But she cared for him to receive recognition for his dedication. Other than her undying gratitude, that is.

"It's okay, I'd like to publish with you," said the witch carefully, not wanting to overdo it. After a short pause, she stated, "But I've never written a scientific text. Will you help me, Professor? At least tell me how to start?"

However childish she sounded, she needed confirmation.

Professor Dumbledore nodded, his expression serious. His icy blue eyes looked straight into Minerva's.

"I will help you every step of the way. Should you have any questions, any doubts at all, don't hesitate to contact me." The wizard's brow twitched slightly as he added, "You know where I live."

Minerva appreciated the joke but gave no comment or retort. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Half an hour ago, she at least had a fleeting feeling of accomplishment and closure. It seemed, however, that her work was nowhere close to being over.


	16. "Don't mention it"

The room had been getting dark for quite some time now. Although the sun had set no more than twenty minutes ago, the written words were indistinguishable with no additional source of light. This marked the end of a warm sunny spring day. Yet, if asked to provide its description, Albus Dumbledore probably wouldn't use the words _warm_ or _sunny_. He might be also having troubles to determine that it was indeed _spring_. One would find this fact less surprising, though, when knowing that the wizard had spent the last several weeks of his free time in the living room.

This evening, like so many evenings before, Albus was sitting on the maroon settee, whose every inch − as well as the nearby coffee table's − were covered in parchments. Without standing up, the wizard pulled out his wand and started a fire in the fireplace. The orange flames provided the necessary light.

On his lap, the professor placed a thick, leather-covered notebook. He opened it on the first empty page and copied the notes that were carelessly written on the loose sheets. He re-read them again and again, until he was sure he decoded every relevant piece of information. With a thoughtful frown, Albus scanned his surroundings for the topographic maps of Germany and Poland. There, he added three red-ink crosses to the collection of two dozen other crosses that were scattered between the countries' borders.

The Transfiguration Professor leaned back in the couch to have a complete view of the papers before him. What he saw didn't lift his spirits in the slightest.

He had given himself only one job: to uncover the location of the Dark Lord's headquarters. Meanwhile, he failed to narrow down the suspected area to less than few hundred square miles. Despite all the owls exchanged with Dawlish and Aberforth's interrogations of the Aurors who'd had one too many drinks in his pub, Albus was left with no leads to follow. Based on the frequency of Grindelwald's sightings, he would assume that the wizard's main residence lied in, or somewhere near, Bavaria.

But this was just a hunch. He had no physical nor magical evidence to support his theory.

Albus could hear an imaginary clock ticking above his head. The war had lasted for four years already, and it had consumed countless numbers of lives. At the moment, Gellert's army was invading France, and it was just a matter of time before they got to the capital.

The wizard breathed loudly, putting his head into his shaky hands.

He'd do everything to persuade Nicolas to take his wife and move out of the country. During the past year, he made subtle suggestions, asked directly, begged, and threatened the Flamels on several occasions. In an act of desperation, Albus even told his mentor about his first few months as a graduate, about Godric's Hollow, about Gellert, and even Ariana. All for nothing, it seemed, as Flamel remained indifferent to both pleas and reasoning. The Transfiguration Professor deeply hoped that Nicolas would change his mind before it was too late. Maybe if he could−

"Hey, Albus! You there?"

The sudden shout made the wizard jump. Feeling like a child caught with a hand in a cookie jar, he looked around while trying to hide the evidence of what he was doing. Only then, he caught a glimpse of the fireplace. In the middle of the flames, which turned from orange to green, there was a familiar face looking at him.

"Hi, Elphias," Albus greeted his friend, relaxing an inch. He moved to seat on the pouf, close to the fire. "Has something happened?"

Elphias Doge, Dumbledore's school friend since their early days at Hogwarts, tilted his head. His thick, blonde hair fell to the side, revealing the strong jaw that moved slightly forward, showing discontent. He raised an eyebrow.

"You forgot," stated Elphias with a mixture of accusation and disappointment.

Albus's mind was working at full speed. There was apparently something important he did not remember. Not wishing to disappoint his friend, he tried hard to recall what this could have been. But to no avail. If he had a Remembrall resting on his palm, it would turn a bright crimson colour.

Having noticed utter confusion written all over his face, the other wizard rolled his eyes with a sigh and said,

"You were supposed to call me yesterday."

Albus's brows furrowed. Something did not add up.

"Didn't you say that we'd talk in a week?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes," confirmed Elphias, "eight says ago."

"Oh."

_Has it really been that long?_

"So, are you going to tell me or not?" said Dumbledore, willing to quickly get to the main subject of the conversation. "How are you? What about Cecile?"

Cecile Clarke was a Muggle woman Elphias met several weeks ago. She worked in the aircraft factory in Hammersmith as an engineer. From what Albus was told, Cecile was a pretty, young woman with a love for big machines. She enjoyed intelligent jokes and was easy to get along with. The two of them never met in person, though.

"Fine. Everything's good," the other wizard answered after a short pause.

Albus meant to ask for details, but Elphias's silly smirk told him everything he had to know.

"You asked her out, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I did," said Elphias enthusiastically, unable to hide his excitement any longer. "I still can't believe she said yes! She's so smart and pretty, and yet she'll go out with me of all people. I'm such a lucky man. Do you think I could buy her a gift? A bouquet of flowers, or a bracelet, maybe? Or is it too much?"

The professor shook his head. Not in an answer to the posed question, but rather as a reaction to the question itself.

Ever since they were kids, Doge tended to think that Dumbledore had answers to every single thing. While this might have been true if one regarded the school subjects, only a fool would assume that he knew everything. It just so happened that Albus had little experience when it came to romantic relationships. He hadn't been on a date in years. As a result, he had no idea about recent dating customs.

"I'm not the most competent person you could ask for advice," he stated, smiling rather sadly. "But I think flowers would be nice. Where are you taking her?"

Elphias told Albus about his intentions toward Cecile. They were planning to spend a nice, quiet evening in a local cafe, and then maybe go for a walk in a park. Dumbledore learned no specifics, as his friend preferred to act on the moment − spontaneously, depending on the situation at hand.

In the meantime, the professor watched the blond-haired wizard with awe. Elphias was positively beaming with joy. Albus had never seen him this excited about spending time with any of the girls he previously dated. The Transfiguration teacher was happy for his friend, of course. But he couldn't help feeling just a bit jealous.

It wasn't that he didn't date because he didn't want to. More often than not, he simply found himself having more urgent things to deal with. There was always too little time to pursue a long-lasting relationship, and Albus quickly got fed up with the short-term ones. He kept telling himself that he still had time, but the vaguely-defined _later_ never came to be.

Having noticed that Albus's expression became uncharacteristically cheerless, Elphias quickly finished his thought. Taking another breath, he said, in a more joyful tone,

"But hey, why do I do all the talking? Please tell me what's new with you. How's life at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, you know," stated the auburn-haired wizard casually, forcing a noncommittal smile upon his face. "Lessons, work, students. Nothing new."

Albus wasn't sure why he decided against telling his best friend that he'd been trying to track down Gellert. Especially that Elphias knew that the two of them were acquainted at some point in time. Probably because he assumed that, once Doge was aware of this fact, the subject would come up in their every future conversation. And Albus would hate to admit how little progress he was making.

"Old Dippet still giving you hard time?" asked Elphias, referring to one of their previous talks, where he learned about communication issues between the Headmaster and his deputy.

The Transfiguration teacher shook his head.

"He's doing his best," said the professor in his boss's defence. "The problem is, he doesn't understand me. But then, I usually don't understand myself, either, so I can't hold this against him."

Elphias smirked. Yes, he thought, it was sometimes difficult to understand Dumbledore. Years of knowing him didn't make it any easier.

"What about the students?" he inquired, noticing that Albus wasn't going to follow the topic.

"Same as ever," was the wizard's short reply. Seeing his friend's suspicious gaze, he added what he'd already said at least half a dozen of times. "Hardly any kids are interested in Transfiguration. Still, there's at least one person in each group I can work with, so no complaints there."

"Any pretty seventh years?"

Albus rolled his eyes at this inappropriate comment, even though it caused him to smile involuntarily.

"No more than usual, thank you."

While Elphias was thinking about the way to prolong the conversation even further, the other wizard pulled up his sleeve and looked at the watch.

"Look, I need to go for now," he quickly added before he could be interrupted. "Can we talk on Sunday? You'll tell me how the date went."

"With spicy details," said Elphias, grinning. "Sure, no problem. See you, Albus. Try not to overdo it."

"You too," replied Albus politely. "Take care and good luck."

Seconds later, Elphias's head vanished from the flames, leaving a negative afterimage on Albus's eyelids. In a few blinks of an eye, it too disappeared.

The Transfiguration Professor returned to his work. He reopened the notebook, glanced at the latest entries, and then at the maps he had been studying. He was thinking hard, analyzing the facts, trying to connect the dots.

Then, he heard a banging in a distance.

No, not again, he though, irritated. Sitting still for several seconds, the professor listened carefully. He hoped that this was just Peeves rummaging the corridors, or maybe the Gryffindor students having fun.

Apparently not. Henerick appeared on the canvas above the fireplace to announce a guest.

"Thank you, Henerick, I've heard," said Albus a bit impatiently, though he meant to be polite.

With a heavy heart, he once again abandoned his undertaking in favour of dealing with an unexpected guest that evidently needed his immediate attention.

Albus opened the entrance door and found Horace on the other side of it.

"Hi," said the Potions Master, looking uncertain. "I need to talk to you."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" asked the Transfiguration teacher in a tone that meant he had no desire for small talk. But Slughorn didn't back away.

"It's about your student."

Dumbledore had a fleeting desire to remind his colleague that they could discuss the matter in their working hours. Yet, Horace's distressed face caused him to move from the doorway, making space for the wizard to come into his office.

"Please, sit down." Professor Dumbledore motioned towards the empty chair, taking the seat behind the mahogany desk. In a resigned voice, he asked, "Who is it this time? Hagrid, Mulciber, Shacklebolt−?"

"McGonagall."

The Deputy Headmaster blinked, staring blankly at the wizard before him. This certainly wasn't the answer he had expected.

"What did she do?" asked Albus uneasily, leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk.

"The thing is," said Horace, scratching his forehead, "I don't really know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Dumbledore wanted to say but refrained. Instead, he left some space for the fellow Head of House to collect his thoughts. After a short pause, Slughorn went on.

"A moment ago, she was brought to my office by Lestrange." A Slytherin prefect, Albus noted. "He claimed that McGonagall attacked him and Avery when they were patrolling the corridors."

"You said it as though you didn't believe him," the Transfiguration Professor stated calmly, although, on the inside, he was trembling with worry.

"Lestrange said that the girl attacked them unexpectedly and unprovoked."

This didn't sound like Minerva at all.

"And what is Minerva's version?"

"She confirmed."

Albus's eyes widened. He couldn't hide his surprise.

"She didn't say a word in her defense," continued Horace. "This seems fishy, don't you think?"

The Deputy Headmaster nodded, biting his lip. Whatever happened, this surely wasn't the whole story. Minerva must have decided against telling Professor Slughorn everything that happened for reasons he could only guess.

"There's another thing," said Horace with a sigh. "I talked to Avery. He wants Minerva suspended."

"Suspended?" asked Albus, agitated. "What did she do to him? Cursed him in front of his girlfriend or something?"

"No," stated the other wizard, as he shook his head. "She didn't even draw her wand. Punched him, broke his nose."

The Transfiguration teacher snorted loudly.

"Come on, Horace. That's ridiculous. She won't get suspended, not for a Muggle duel."

As long as Albus knew, suspensions were reserved for serious faults. Armando told him about a total of few cases of students' misbehaviour that caused them to be suspended. Like deliberately and repeatedly disobeying a teacher's orders, showing no regard for a teacher's authority, selling illegal dragon horns, or being violent towards other students. But definitely not for a single fight.

Not if it resulted in a broken nose.

"I'm not saying she will," replied the Potions Master. "I just came here to warn you. Avery's angry. He threatens to contact not only the Headmaster, but also his father, who − as you may or may nor remember − is a very important member of the Board of Governors."

This sounded troublesome, thought Albus. Not Armando's involvement; the Headmaster was unlikely to punish students with more than a detention without a very good reason. He was worried about convincing Avery's friends that Minerva hadn't done anything that would be worth their intervention.

But what had Minerva done?

Professor Dumbledore pondered over the girl's behaviour. While Professor Slughorn was questioning her, she must have known what was at stake. How much trouble she would be getting into for taking all the blame. Why on earth didn't she even try to explain herself? What could be worth getting suspended for?

Albus's thoughts lead him back to his father, cornered by the Ministry, refusing to tell why he attacked the Muggle boys from his neighbourhood. He tried to ignore the feeling of familiarity Minerva's case caused.

"I still hope we could hear the girl's story," continued the Potions Master. "Maybe she'll tell you what really happened. You know her better than I do. I truly hope everything works out fine for her."

A feeling of gratitude made Albus look up and catch Slughorn's eyes. Very serious, he said,

"Thank you, Horace."

The wizard dismissed his thanks with a wave of the hand.

"Don't mention it. We all want to protect our best students. Besides, it's nothing compared to all the things you did for Tom."

Tom Riddle was Professor Slughorn's most brilliant student, just like Minerva McGonagall was Dumbledore's. Unfortunately, the young wizard often had a misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite that, he had never been proven guilty of any misdeeds. While he was a gifted potions brewer and charms caster, Riddle remained alone and friendless. This troubled Albus, who suggested that the Potions Master made an exception and invited Tom to the Slug Club in his first semester. The Deputy Headmaster also made sure that the boy was given a stipend every year, so that he could afford to buy school equipment, books, and wizard robes.

Albus shifted in the chair and folded his hands, weighing his options. He was thinking of the best way to handle the situation. First, he needed to talk to Minerva and the Slytherin boys. Individually. He'd surely be able to pick up the little details that his colleague was oblivious to. This wouldn't help him take a side, because he'd always stand by his student, but rather prepare the line of defense.

"I'll go talk to Minerva," stated Albus firmly. "Where is she now?"

"I sent her back to the common room," replied Horace.

"And Avery?"

"He should be out of the Hospital Wing by now."

The Transfiguration Professor nodded. He got to his feet and said,

"Good. Let's go, then."

Albus followed Horace out of the office, accepting that his quest to stop Gellert from taking over the world would have to wait a little longer.


	17. "For everything"

"Now, can anyone tell me how to create a convincingly-looking duplicate?" Professor Dumbledore asked the class.

He waited for a moment, but there were still no hands in the air. He shouldn't be surprised. His star student wasn't there.

So far, Minerva hadn't missed many Transfiguration lessons. Whenever she did, however, it was a habit of hers to notify the Transfiguration Professor of her future absence. She wasn't obliged to do so, of course. This was simply a sign of her courtesy. Most students didn't bother with giving any explanations. Until it was the end of the year, that is, when teachers were giving them the final marks. Nevertheless, this was almost the end of the lesson, and Minerva still hadn't shown up without prior notice. Albus was forced to answer the question himself.

"In short, you need to, at the very least, recreate the exterior features of the given object. How to do it, is the question you will need to answer in your homework due in two weeks. Class dismissed."

The fifth-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws packed their things and hurried to the exit.

"Miss Finch?" the Deputy called after one of the leaving students. With hesitance, the girl turned back and approached the teacher's desk.

"Please give it to Minerva," said the professor, handing her a document, few-pages long. It had numerous notes hand-written at its margins. "Tell her we need to have a word concerning her article."

Augusta was holding the pages in her outstretched hand, as if she was unsure what to do with them. Having noticed his student's confusion, the Transfiguration Professor added,

"I apologize for troubling you, my dear, but the matter is quite urgent. I would have given it to Minerva myself, had she attended today's class."

 A few more seconds passed before the young witch looked up at him, bewildered.

 "You mean you don't know?" said Augusta, evidently worried. "She didn't tell you?"

 "Tell me what?" inquired Albus with apprehension.

 Augusta took a deep, steadying breath.

 "Her parents passed away," the girl informed him, her eyes on the floor. "She got the information this morning and didn't go to any of her classes, as far as I know."

 Albus froze on the spot. The mischievous half-smile had completely vanished from his shock-stricken face. Along with all its colour. He looked like one of the marble statues of which there were plenty on the Hogwarts corridors. His lips barely moved when he asked,

 "Do you know where she is?"

 "No, sir," the girl replied, perplexed. "She told us − I mean, me and Rolanda − that she's fine and wanted to be left alone."

 Albus nodded stiffly, dropping his icy gaze from Augusta.

 "Thank you, Miss Finch. You are free to go."

His own words sounded unnaturally distant to him. Professor Dumbledore sank heavily back to his seat, digesting this new piece of information. Minerva's parents were dead… He hadn't known that. He did not recall hearing about it from anyone, reading it in the newspaper, or receiving any note concerning the matter.

But he should have, damn it! The poor girl was out there for hours, crying her eyes out in some dark, dusty corner of the castle. Left all alone with her thoughts, guilt, and sorrow. He couldn't imagine anything worse for her now, maybe besides being drawn to the morgue to identify the bodies. The wizard knew he needed to find Minerva, and he had to do it fast. He jumped to his feet and stormed out of the classroom.

A quick glance at the watch told him it was nearly dinner time. The last thing he could think about was food, but all the students would soon gather in the Great Hall. He hoped that Minerva would, too. As soon as Albus peeked at the Gryffindors from the back entrance behind the teacher's table, he realized he was out of luck.

Not even having touched his meal, the professor excused himself and left hastily to search the castle. He walked through every floor, corridor, bathroom. The Gryffindor Tower, Quidditch team's changing room, unused classroom on the second floor. The Astronomy Tower, where he himself liked to hide whenever he had to think something over. On his way, the Deputy Headmaster woke up several portraits, but they claimed not to have seen a dark-haired female student in distress. Albus was desperate for help, any help at all, but the corridors he passed were as quiet and empty as he ever remembered them.

Where were the damn ghosts when you needed them?!

Powerless, the wizard climbed the stairs leading to the Gryffindor Tower, naively hoping that his student returned to the common room before curfew. He approached Rolanda as soon as he spotted her.

"Is Minerva back yet?" asked the teacher.

"No, Professor," the girl answered in a negative, visibly uncomfortable with the interrogation. "I haven't seen her since morning. I even had to feed Hermes for her, and she's never forgotten that."

"Hermes…" the wizard repeated, coming to a sudden realization. "Do you know where he is?"

"You should try Minerva's room," informed Rolanda, supporting her speech with a gesture.

"Unless he's already done with the food," she added in an undertone. But the professor was already gone.

Albus knocked on the door, just in case, before coming in.

"Hi, Hermes," Professor Dumbledore greeted the owl, who was finishing the meal composed of dinner leftovers. "You know where Minerva is, don't you?"

At the sound of his owner's name, Hermes hooted merrily in response.

"Could you take me there? I need to talk to her."

It didn't work. The owl began to clean its feathers.

Albus walked around the room, combing his hair back with his fingers. There had to be a way to make the owl cooperate. After a while, he thought of something. He took an empty piece of parchment from Minerva's desk, tore off a piece, and wrote down her name. He handed it to Hermes.

"Listen, pal. I need it delivered to your lady as soon as possible. Could you do it for me, please?"

Hermes took the note into his beak and flapped his wings. He took off the moment the Transfiguration Professor opened the door. Ignoring curious looks of his students, Professor Dumbledore ran after Minerva's brown owl.

After a couple of minutes, he wished he'd grabbed her broom on his way out. Hermes was flying quite fast, even in the closed space of Hogwarts' corridors. Out of breath, Albus cast the silent Following Charm, strong enough to hold for around thirty seconds. He ran along the thin, golden line, which was vanishing a few steps behind. It took him to one of the classrooms on the top floor of the building, where no classes had been held ever since he graduated. The line disappeared under the door.

The Transfiguration Professor waited a moment to catch his breath. Busy with finding Minerva, Albus didn't have the time to think how to handle the situation. What should he tell her?

It was not the first instance of a relative's death among the students. This was war, after all. He always offered consolation and support to every child at Hogwarts. But now, one of the closest persons to him had just lost both of her parents. He couldn't think of anything appropriate, anything at all that could make Minerva feel any better. But her relatives were gone, he couldn't just leave the girl be. He was left alone, and this was one of the worst experiences in his entire life.

He straightened his robes and pulled the door open.

Minerva was sitting at the teacher's desk, with Hermes on her knees. The loud squeak of the hinges made the girl jump up noticeably despite the darkness in the room. She looked at the source of the sound and momentarily relaxed, having recognized that the guest was not Mr. Pringle, the caretaker.

"This is from you," she half-asked, half-stated, holding up the torn piece of parchment. "I'm sorry I didn't turn up for today's lesson. I'll take the materials from you tomorrow."

She watched carefully as he moved closer. The girl must have known the real reason behind the professor's arrival, yet she refused to acknowledge it. This didn't make things any easier for the wizard.

"I know what happened," he said bluntly, not daring to look her straight in the eyes. "Minerva, I'm so sorry."

There was a pause. Which seemed to last for eternity.

"I appreciate your concern, Professor," she replied at last. Her answer was stiff, cold, emotionless. She had not spoken to him in such a formal manner for quite some time, Dumbledore noticed. "Now, would you mind to turn back and leave? I want to be alone."

Albus wondered whether he should comply with Minerva's request, but decided against it. She wasn't in a fit state to tell what's best for her. Besides, he was really worried the young witch would do something irresponsible if left alone with her thoughts.

"In fact, I would mind, Minerva," said Professor Dumbledore, gently stroking her shoulder. "I'm seriously worried about you."

She shook her head and spoke in the exact same tone as before.

"You don't need to do this, sir."

The wizard sighed inwardly, but decided to play along.

"I am well aware of this simple fact, Miss McGonagall." He made a short pause to compose himself, and then added, "May I join you?"

Minerva didn't oppose, so Albus sat next to her, keeping some distance in-between them. At this moment, he realized that consoling Minerva was much harder than consoling any other of his Gryffindors. Before he could think of the cause, however, he was distracted by Hermes, who was trying very hard to draw his attention. The wizard patted the owl lightly.

"Clever idea to find someone," Minerva pointed out. "I should have cast the Repelling spell."

"What you should have done is not to disappeared for the entire day," he specified.

For the first time since Dumbledore got there, Minerva looked directly at him. In the moonlight, the professor could tell she wasn't crying. Still, her lower lip shook dangerously when she made her request.

"As you can see, I'm fine. I'm not hurt, I'm not about to do anything stupid. I just want another moment before returning to the Tower."

The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of this particular wizard. He thought of her as strong and independent, and it had better stayed this way.

"You're not fine," interjected Albus. He knew she was trying to persuade him to go away, and he wasn't going to allow that to happen.

"Excuse me?" Minerva glanced at him with anger.

"You're not fine, Minerva," the teacher continued. "Actually, you won't be fine for quite a while, and that's perfectly normal. I know you're in pain. I also know that right now you feel too emotional to talk about the things you're going through. But if you ever−"

"What do _you_ know!" she shouted in a shaky voice. "You haven't lost anyone. You have no idea how I feel!"

She got to her feet so fast that Hermes needed to take off in order to avoid hitting the floor. Minerva walked to the student's desk in the furthest corner of the room and sat cross-legged on the desktop, her back turned to the Transfiguration Professor.

The girl was right, by the looks of it. He must have underestimated her feelings, because he wasn't expecting her sudden outburst. Still, her words got to him.

"You're not entirely correct," said Albus quietly. She didn't hear him move, but judging from the sound of his voice, the teacher was standing mere feet behind her. He took a deep, silent breath. Minerva's accusation brought up many painful memories. He never meant to relive them. It was like re-opening an old wound. Yet, it was crucial for his student to understand. To know that he could help her. That she's not alone.

"I lost my father when I was a child," Albus continued in a hushed voice. "Like you, I wasn't with him when it happened, and I regret it to this day. Then, when my mother passed away, I was only a year older than you are now. I was at Hogwarts with Aberforth; we didn't get to see her until the funeral. A few months passed, there was this fight… and my sister… my little sister…"

His voice broke. Unshed tears appeared in his eyes. He forced them back by squeezing both sides of the crook on his nose. His other hand was clenched into a fist so tightly that his fingernails dug deep into his skin, leaving four visible marks. The wizard thought the time that had passed since these most unfortunate events would make it easier for him to tell the story aloud. He couldn't be more wrong. At first, he didn't even notice a small hand that touched his forearm.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Minerva, much calmer than before.

She was being unfair to Dumbledore, the young witch bitterly realized. She never even asked whether his parents were still alive. And it seemed that, in a short period of time, he lost not only them, but one of his siblings, as well. The girl wondered whether the wizard had any family left besides Aberforth.

Despite the recent life-changing events in her life, it was still uncomfortable for Minerva to see someone older, wiser, and much bigger than she was in such a vulnerable state. She rubbed Professor Dumbledore's arm with affection, watching him carefully. And waited, not sure what else to do or say.

Luckily for her, the Transfiguration Professor calmed down in a matter of seconds. The mask he put on was impenetrable. Had she not seen him distressed mere moments ago, she wouldn't have believed there was anything wrong. Minerva envied him and decided to learn how to hide her feelings in a similar manner. She silently moved from her place to make some space for the wizard to sit on. He gratefully did.

Minerva waited for Dumbledore to speak. It appeared, though, that he was there simply to keep her company. To her surprise, she noticed that this silence between them wasn't awkward. Watching her dangling feet, the girl was again thinking about her parents. Not the last events, but the whole past they shared together. Thinking out loud, she opened up at last.

"I don't remember if I ever told you, but I come from a small Scottish village where there were no many wizards around. My father is a Muggle, so I've never seen mother use any kind of magic. Neither me nor Malcolm knew we were wizards until my brother's acceptance letter arrived on his eleventh birthday. Even after Malcolm left for his first year, I didn't envy him. I've never thought I was missing on anything. I was getting good marks, had many friends to play with. Sometimes, when they weren't arguing, father would teach me how to fix things, and mother would tell me stories about the Wizarding World.

"When I was on the second year, my father was recruited by the British army. They sent him to the Eastern Front. Around the same time, Malcolm moved to the States with his girlfriend. Otherwise, he would be forced to join the military as well. My mother wasn't a practicing witch, and she still had me to raise, so she was allowed to stay home. After some time, she said she was getting crazy. Closed in a small house, with her family thrown to different parts of the globe. It was too much for her. So, she finished the course to become a mediwitch. I've told you about this, remember?"

Albus nodded sadly, but said nothing, afraid the girl wouldn't continue if he interrupted. Minerva went on.

"Soon after, she had her license and volunteered to join the group of wizards that were fighting nearest to my father's troops. I guess she wished to be able to see him once in a while. Every now and then, mother sent me a letter, so that I wouldn't worry too much. Then, two weeks ago…" Minerva's voice shook again, but this time she didn't care. She wasn't done telling her story. "I received the letter early. It said that father got shot. The wound wasn't fatal but was healing badly. Mother did everything she could to be allowed to visit him. Maybe− maybe she also wanted to help, I don't know. And then…"

The witch was unable to speak the truth out loud. Afraid to hear the words, even if she was the one saying them. But she couldn't stop now. She had to finish.

"They said the enemy forces attacked the camp… They were shooting, and bombing, and killing everyone, and mother probably had no time to react. The Shield Charm, Disillusion, Disapparition, anything. And she and father were− they were…"

She was unable to continue. She knew her parents were dead. But every time the girl realized the implications, it opened the freshly sealed wound once again. She would never be able to see them, talk to them, hug them. Tell them about a recent Quidditch match. Be praised for receiving top marks on a test. Eat her favourite dish that only mother could get right. Hear that her room is a mess and needs cleaning. Whenever Minerva was angry with her father, she would say many bad things she never meant. She wanted him to know that. She wished to tell her parents so much more. To apologize for misbehaving. For not having enough time for them. And she was never to be given a chance.

Losing her strong attitude all along, the young witch was crying uncomfortably, her face hidden in her hands. It broke Albus's heart to see Minerva like that. He succeeded, he made her talk about her loss. But he also wanted to do something to make her feel something other than pain. Anything.

He moved closer to the young girl and, firmly but cautiously, put his arm around her. He was afraid she'd pull back. But instead, she leaned in. He pulled her closer, embraced her tightly and rested his head on top of hers. He could feel the depth of her sorrow when she sobbed silently against his chest.

"Shhhh, it's going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see…" Not fully aware of what he was doing, Albus kept saying every words of consolation that came to his mind. He felt the girl's grip on his shoulder tighten, as she sank even closer. His eyes began to burn. He closed them as tight as he could. After Ariana's death, the wizard promised himself not to shed any more tears, anymore, as for him this was the final sign of total helplessness. Come to think of it, he and Minerva had more in common than any of them would dare to admit.

Professor Dumbledore felt truly sorry for the girl. No child her age should be grieving the loss of their parents. He remembered perfectly well that this kind of events are life-determining. All he could do was hope that this dreadful incident wouldn't brake the young witch's spirit, but instead make her a stronger and more compassionate person. He truly wished so. Fortunately, she still had one member of her family left.

"Please, tell me, dear," he whispered, gently stroking her hair, "whenever you'll be willing to visit your brother. Even if it's today or tomorrow. This could easily be arranged."

He felt Minerva nod against his chest.

After a few minutes, hours, days, he wasn't sure, the young witch calmed down. She didn't tremble anymore, but she wasn't moving, either.

"How are you feeling?" he said in a whisper and felt Minerva shift a little in his embrace.

"Better," she answered, her voice half-muffled by the fabric of his robes.

She lied. She was feeling exactly the same. Nevertheless, she was grateful he didn't leave her alone despite her protests. And she wanted him to be aware of that.

"But I'd rather not talk yet," Minerva added in a hushed voice, and Dumbledore immediately knew why. She was still on the verge of tears, her voice shaking more than ever.

"What would you say for a cup of hot chocolate?" Albus inquired. "I have a bottle of Firewhisky, we could mix them together. There's nothing better to keep you warm."

Minerva thought she misheard him, but slowly got up in case she didn't. The professor welcomed the change of position, as almost every part of his body stiffened from sitting still for so long. He discretely stretched his muscles, put his hand on Minerva's back and slowly directed her towards the door.

In his chambers, Professor Dumbledore walked his student to the settee, which was separated from the chimney by a small coffee table. The fact that Minerva allowed him to move herself around meant that she was either still confused or didn't care what was happening to her. Albus lit the fire with the fifth match, accidentally breaking the first four. A long time ago, Minerva noticed that he wasn't using magic unless it was completely necessary. She even asked him about it on one occasion, but the teacher gave her an evasive answer. She wasn't persistent enough to keep asking.

"I'll be right back," informed the professor before leaving the room.

Indeed, Albus was back in a few minutes with a tray, on which he carried a kettle, two large mugs, and an unopened bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky. He put the tray on the coffee table, sat next to Minerva, and poured the drinks.

"There," he said, handing her a mug. "Drink before it gets cold."

The girl took a sip. Up until that moment, she drank no alcohol beverages, so she was new to the burning sensation it caused.

Albus drank half of his mug in one gulp.

"Professor," started Minerva, trying to sound confident. She needed to know one more thing. And she knew that if she missed her chance, she might never muster enough courage to ask. The question that was on her mind didn't originally concern a general matter, but she felt safer putting it this way. "I've been thinking… Couldn't a person come back as a ghost? Or a portrait? Or anything else, I don't know−"

"Minerva," Albus interrupted. He was afraid she would come to a similar conclusion. The girl did it much earlier than he anticipated, and that alone frightened him. But he knew what he had to say. "I realize it will sound a little harsh to you at the moment, but once the people you love die, they're gone. You need to accept that you'll never be able to see them again. The sooner you do it, the better. If they came back as ghosts or portraits, they wouldn't be the same. Most importantly, you wouldn't be able to interact with them. You could talk, yes, but you wouldn't even feel their presence in the room. You wouldn't be able to hug each other, touch, go anywhere like normal people do. It would drive you mad. Insane. Please, trust me on this. It's much better this way."

When Professor Dumbledore went silent, he noticed that Minerva had already finished her drink and was looking straight ahead with an unfocused gaze. Her lips formed a straight line on her pale face. She was again shuddering from shock.

Stupid, Albus scolded himself in his mind. He shouldn't have talked to her in this manner, it was still too soon.

He touched her hand, pretending he didn't notice any of her symptoms.

"You're shivering," he stated. "Give me a second, I'll bring you a blanket."

The moment he left, Minerva lied down on the couch. Her head hurt more than ever, although the alcohol eased some of the pain. Any other evening, she would appreciate that the professor told her about his past. Something, she suspected, was known to very few people. She would be ashamed and embarrassed of breaking up before him, showing how weak, defenceless, and powerless she truly was. Snorting on his robes. Hoping beyond logic that the dead could be brought back to life, although next to none had been reanimated into any sort of apparition.

Now, however, she couldn't care less. About any of this. Or any other thing, for that matter. Mere moments ago, she couldn't stop herself from expressing deep, limitless sadness. But even then, it was her body reacting to external and internal stimuli. She, herself, felt nothing. Emptiness. A huge hole where her heart should be. Even though she knew that emotions originated in the brain. She didn't feel the desire to hope for the situation to change. Her reasonable self suspected it would pass. As it did for the teenage Albus who lost three family members before he was given an opportunity to live a life on his own.

Rethinking today's events tired her. Minerva curled her legs up, put both hands under her head, and closed her eyes. Just for a little while, she thought to herself.

When Professor Dumbledore came back, Minerva was fast asleep. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, after such a hard day. He had no intention of waking her. Instead, he tucked his student up with a colourful blanket. The wizard watched the girl's relaxed features, white skin, and cheeks red from emotions. He made a half-move, as if he wanted to do something but thought better of it.

After Minerva opened her eyes again, she had no idea where she was or how she got there. Disoriented, she abruptly sat up. It wasn't until she looked around and found a familiar face that her tension dropped. The memories from the previous day came flooding back

"Good morning, Minerva," the Transfiguration Professor greeted her from behind the dinner table. "Did you sleep well?"

"Morning, Professor," she replied, giving a loud yawn. "What time is it?"

"Ten past seven," he informed her.

"In the morning?" She panicked. She spent the night away from the Gryffindor Tower! Fully clothed, she fell asleep on her teacher's couch. Judging from his behaviour, though, she didn't suppose she got herself in big trouble.

"I made you breakfast." Albus put a white plate on the coffee table. From up close, Minerva noticed dark circles around his dimmed eyes.

"Thank you. How was your night, sir?"

Albus smiled sadly, returning to his place behind the table.

"Most productive," he admitted. "I caught up with the mail, graded every essay, and read most of the latest issue of _Transfiguration Today_."

He wasn't making a joke, Minerva realized. She felt bad for depriving Professor Dumbledore of his sleep.

The witch looked at her meal. Yesterday evening, she was sure she wouldn't be able to eat anything for days. Now, at the sight of the sandwiches made by her teacher, her stomach gave a loud growl. She forced one into herself and packet the other one for later.

"I need to take a quick shower," she heard the Transfiguration Professor say. "If you could please wait another fifteen minutes, I would walk you to your room, so that nobody would bother you."

"Thank you, sir, but I'd rather attend today's lessons. I'll just go grab my books, there's no need for you to walk me anywhere."

"Are you certain?" he asked, looking deadly serious. His icy blue eyes weren't piercing anymore, but rather full of concern.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure," she answered firmly. Minerva definitely didn't want to have too much time for thinking right now. She stood up from the couch. "I've already taken enough of your time."

"You haven't taken anything that wasn't willingly given," replied Albus, also getting up.

Minerva walked the distance between them, stopping on the opposite side of the dinner table. She looked up to meet his eyes.

"Thank you," she said in a sad voice, but with such power that it made Albus swallow. "For everything."

She was at the door when Professor Dumbledore finally found his tongue.

"You're welcome…," he nearly whispered.

Minerva nodded with acknowledgement and left him in an empty room. Supporting most of his weight on his straight arms, his palms resting against the tabletop. He closed his tired eyes before he added,

"For everything."


End file.
